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9 



MARCO, THE GYPSY ELF 



Marco, the Gypsy Elf 


Short Stories for Children 


BY 

MADGE L. PATTESON 


HINE BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
ONE HUNDRED WILLIAM STREET, NEW YORK 


1918 




9 




Copyright 1918 
by 

Madge I<. Patteson 



©Ci,A5066()2 




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CONTENTS 


1. The Mischief Maker 9 

2. Marco and Santa Claus 19 

3. The Katy-didn’t . . 27 

4. The Captive Fay 39 

5. The Queen's Carnival 49 

6. A Ghost Story 57 

7. Doctor Marco 65 

8. Christmas in Fairyland 73 

9. Marco Adopts a Family 79 

10. The Wedding 91 



THE MISCHIEF MAKER 


S YLVAS, King of Elfland, was in a high state 
of indignation. The cause of his mood was 
plain to anyone who chanced to pass 
through his dominions. Some mischievous elf 
was in serious danger by thus incurring the royal 
displeasure. 

The trouble was noticeable everywhere. 

It began early that morning when a company 
of aggrieved caterpillars appeared before the little 
monarch with the announcement that their nest 
had been invaded the night before, and the hair 
of each unoffending caterpillar had been neatly 
rolled in curl papers. These curl papers they had 
not been able to get off and, as the King could 
see, it forced them to present a most ridiculous 
appearance before the public. 

It is true that nothing else in the nest had been 
molested but the prank was unpardonable. No 
sooner had the King soothed their ruffled feelings 
and promised to right their wrongs, than a hornet 
appeared with a white face and flashing eyes, with 
a similar story. On awaking that same morning 
he found himself tied head to tail, and when he 
tried to liberate himself he stung himself with 
his own sting. Someone was guilty of this fresh 
outrage. Several black imps next came on the 
scene. They told a weird tale of a strange elf 
man who had appeared before their tree bark 

9 


bungalow in the middle of the night. He forced 
them at the point of a bee sting sword to whistle 
a tune and dance the fox trot to their own music 
while he beat upon a tambourine. They failed to 
identify him because he wore a spotted kerchief 
tied about the lower part of his face, leaving only 
his eyes uncovered. 

When the imps had retailed their complaint the 
Lord High Chamberlain of Elfland entered with 
solemn countenance and offended dignity. This 
worthy elf said never a word, but the expression 
of his face was eloquent. Two of his personal 
attendants followed him and bent the knee before 
the throne of King Sylvas. 

Scenting new trouble the little monarch in- 
quired the cause of the Lord High Chamberlain’s 
haughty look. 

Suddenly, and without any warning, at this 
question both the little attendants fell to laugh- 
ing. Their laughter could not be restrained al- 
though they realized the personal danger to 
themselves that this rude behavior in the presence 
of royalty would bring upon them. In vain did 
they place their tiny hands over their mouths, in 
vain did they hide their faces, the laughter would 
not be denied. At last they held their sides and 
roared in the face of the whole court. 

The King lifted amazed eyes, the Lord High 
Chamberlain still stood in frozen dignity, the 
ladies and gentlemen of the court frowned omi- 
nously. 

“Sirs,” thundered Sylvas in kingly wrath, 
“explain this unseemly mirth. We asked you to 
state the grievance of your master, the Lord High 
Chamberlain, and you laugh ! Such impertinence 
10 


was never known before in the whole of our 
kingdom/’ 

Frightened into silence the two elves pros- 
trated themselves before the throne, and one be- 
gan in soft, apologetic tones to tell the cause of 
their merriment: “Sire, we mean no harm, but 
our master has been grievously insulted.” 

“Your master insulted,” said the King, “and 
you are amused?” 

‘‘No — no. Sire, pardon — but we did not laugh 
at the insult. We are deeply incensed> but. Your 
Majesty, some villain last night did paste a bit of 
thistledown on the chi-chi-chin” — but here both 
elves burst out laughing again. “Your Majesty, 
we implore your patience, but the amusement is 
in us and must come out. Some outcast villain, 
some criminal — words fail me to express the out- 
rage — but while the Chamberlain slept some in- 
truder entered his apartment and pasted some 
flowing thistledown upon his noble cheeks and 
chin. When he arose this morning our most 
worthy master supposed that he had grown a 
beautiful beard in the night. He felt very proud 
and with occasion; but, oh Sire, it was his ex- 
pression when he washed this morning. He 
washed his noble face and — and the beard came 
off!” 

At the end of this recital the Lord High Cham- 
berlain turned an uncomfortable red but, in spite 
of his embarrassment, a slow grin spread over his 
crestfallen face. 

Sylvas coughed behind his kingly hand, then 
began to chuckle softly. The chuckle grew and 
grew until the entire court followed suit. Peal 
after peal of elfin laughter echoed through the 

II 


palace halls. “Well! well!” exclaimed the King. 
“Sirs, we cannot blame you. The incident, if out- 
rageous, was a most amusing one. It must have 
been a funny sight. Why — we laugh ourself. 
Nevertheless the author of these outrages shall 
be punished. Let it be proclaimed throughout 
the realm that Sylvas goes in person to find the 
offender. Prepare a fleet- winged moth for our 
service.” 

Immediately hurried preparations for the 
King’s man hunt were made. 

The greatest excitement prevailed throughout 
the land, and for days the moth was kept on the 
wing while the King searched high and low. 

Finally one bright night the moon being full, 
Sylvas and his train of attendant elves chanced 
on a gypsy encampment. The camp was located 
quite on the border of Elfland, overlooking the 
dominion of Queen Florita of Fairyland. The 
kingdoms adjoined and the group of inverted 
althea blooms forming the tents was exactly on 
the dividing line. One tent was larger than any 
of the others and faintly tinged with rose color, 
while all the rest were snow white. 

A tiny fire burned before this tent with an 
acorn cup pot hung on crossed twigs above it. 

A birch bark wagon with a canopy formed of 
the petal of a water lily stood under a sheltering 
toad stool. Gypsy-elves in elfin dress of green 
and brown with flower petal kerchiefs on their 
heads and earrings in their ears were in groups 
about the camp. Some were singing, some sleep- 
ing and one tinkled music on a tiny banjo. 

A sign in front of the large tent advertised in 
elfin letters where fortunes could be told. The 


12 


little king and his followers were very tired and 
their search thus far had proved unsuccessful. 
They decided to stop with the gypsies awhile and 
rest. On discovering who their distinguished 
guest was, there was much commotion and ex- 
citement in the camp and the gypsy-elves dis- 
patched a messenger to the large tent to notify 
the king of the gypsy-elves that his own sovereign 
was come to visit him. 

Sylvas seated himself among his followers 
very informally on the ground and looked with 
interest toward the tent of the gypsy ruler. 

Almost immediately the curtains of the tent 
were lifted and there appeared before the sur- 
prised courtiers a tiny elf man of perhaps an inch 
in height. He wore a doublet and hose of dark 
green ivy. Over this was a loose cloak of the 
same hue, with wide flowing sleeves. On his 
head was knotted a kerchief made of the mottled 
petal of a tiger lily, from one side of which 
drooped a red feather taken from the downy head 
of a woodpecker. His hair reached his shoulder 
in a black, flowing mass and at his side he wore a 
bee sting for a sword. 

On seeing his sovereign, Marco, the gypsy-elf, 
lifted his kerchief-cap from his head and swept 
the scarlet feather on the ground in greeting. 
He fell on his knee and kissed the hand of the 
little ruler, then turning it over, palm upward, 
studied its lines interestedly. 

Throughout the whole proceeding he had not 
spoken a word, but now lifted his charming face 
and, with a smile of warmest affection and defer- 
ence, murmured “Welcome !” 

From this moment the small gypsy had the 

13 


attention of his courtly guests. All grouped 
themselves about him, holding out their palms to 
be read, or questioning him about his wandering 
life. Sylvas, however, was not yet ready to be 
entertained. Instead, he ordered the elves back 
to their seats until he could make Marco ac- 
quainted with their business in the camp. In a 
few words he told of the search in which they 
were engaged and stated in no uncertain terms 
the punishment that would be meted out to the 
criminal when he was found. Marco showed deep 
concern at the story of the elf’s misdeeds and 
promised to aid them in their hunt. 

After this they partook of a picnic dinner with 
the gypsy-elves, eating from a maple leaf table- 
cloth spread on the ground. 

Marco then took the banjo from the hands of 
the musical elf. Playing a lively air, he danced a 
marvelous whirling dance, ending by throwing 
the instrument back to its owner, and going 
through a series of acrobatic movements so rap- 
idly as to almost take away the breath of his 
audience. 

The courtiers laughed and clapped their hands 
and the King vowed to have Marco often at court 
after this as chief entertainer. 

The gypsy-elf bowed graceful acknowledg- 
ment of their applause ; then again falling on his 
knees before the king, he began to tell his fortune. 

The elves were enchanted. 

Never had so winning an elf nor so interesting 
a gypsy come into their lives. 

He began: “Your Majesty, your hand is fine 
and strong; the hand of a wise ruler, a sincere 
friend, an honorable judge, a merciful elf. Yes, 

14 


mercy is there and gentleness and forgiveness. 
You have a sense of humor. You appreciate the 
difference between mischief and meanness, be- 
tween pranks and crimes. 

“I see in your royal palm, O King, wise and 
noble, I see the name of the reckless elf for 
whom you are searching, the author of all the 
crimes. His name. Your Majesty, is the name of 
a brother ruler, Marco, king of the gypsy-elves.” 
With these words Marco cast his eyes mourn- 
fully on the ground and bowed his head as if 
awaiting sentence. Perhaps, if Sylvas had been 
more observant, he might have seen a mis- 
chievous twinkle in the corners of these same 
eyes and an amused quiver around the mouth. 
If the King had taken this trouble he might have 
suspected that the gypsy’s contrition was not 
above suspicion. 

Sylvas heard only the words and, at the name 
of the fugitive he and the courtiers sprang to 
their feet; the gypsy-elves hurried up, but stood 
somewhat in the background. “What! You?” 
cried the King. “You dared insult the Lord High 
Chamberlain of the realm with a practical joke: 
to impose on ignorant imps; to practice cruelty 
on our friends, the insects, and then defy us to 
our face? Villain, you shall pay dearly. Be- 
ware !” 

Marco waited until this outburst was over, 
then with his winsome manner spoke again in his 
musical, elfin tones : “Pardon, but I saw the cruel 
hornet sting a mortal infant, too young to defend 
itself. I merely fastened him head to tail to let 
him see how it felt. As for the imps,” here he gave 
a gleeful laugh, “they were required to do only 

15 


what Your Majesty was pleased to find amusing 
when I did it myself a while ago. I urged them 
to dance to their own music. Surely, these are no 
crimes. It is but nature to dance to music. The 
caterpillars and the noble Chamberlain were not 
insulted, for since when was ever elf or reptile 
averse to being made more beautiful? With care- 
ful attention to the details of the toilet both curls 
and beard might have been retained. I bear a 
charmed life. Your Majesty. Punishment has 
ever failed with me. See — I have taken the 
precaution to have my tent poles made of a wish 
bone, while behold !” Here Marco sprang lightly 
to his feet and spread his arms wide apart, allow- 
ing his cloak to completely cover him. “My 
cloak is a four-leaved clover for good luck — but I 
delay you. Doubtless there are even now matters 
of state demanding your attention. One moment 
more, while King Sylvas and his train remain our 
honored guests. There is one other item to add 
to the fortune — your good fortune. Sire. Elfland 
has a neighbor, beauteous and fair, Florita, Queen 
of the fairies. In the royal palm of my sovereign 
I see an alliance of kingdoms, and fortunes, and 
hearts. I see hands joined in wedlock — one hand 
is the bronze one of Elfland’s King; the other is 
small and white. Long life and good luck to the 
King from the wearer of the lucky leaf, the par- 
doned criminal who is really not a criminal, from 
Marco the gypsy-elf and all his band.’’ His last 
words were almost lost in the simultaneous cheer 
from courtiers and gypsies. 

King Sylvas smiled a forgiving, indulgent 
smile. He arose, giving himself a little shake, like 
one awakening from a dream or perhaps a maze 

i6 


of fascination. He signaled his followers to pre- 
pare for departure and mounted the back of a 
moth. Turning toward Marco and once more 
holding out his hand, this time in pardon, he 
said: “You have given us a great idea to-day, a 
suggestion that shall linger in our mind, we trust, 
to some purpose. Ah, Marco, if you were not 
such an imp of an elf, we should call you our 
Good Fairy!” 


17 



Santa Claus and Marco had a cozy talk, lohile the fire 
blazed up the chimney and the North 
Wind roared outside. 


MARCO AND SANTA CLAUS 


T he journey seemed long to Marco, the 
gypsy-elf. For days and nights he had flown 
on dainty wings amid biting winds, over 
snow covered lands, clad only in fairy garb of 
flower petals and wrapped in a mantle of thistle- 
down. His body shivered with cold, for, you see, 
he was quite small enough to ride around in a 
walnut shell or on the back of a butterfly. Now 
here he was away up in Santa Claus land, where 
the darkness of night reigned half the year, alone, 
and still flying. At last, glancing downward, he 
saw a very tall old man coming out of a grove of 
the prettiest trees Marco had ever seen. The old 
man had a round purple face, and icicles pow- 
dered with snow grew all over his head like hair. 

He walked along rapidly, puffing fierce breaths 
before him as he came. Controlling his shivering 
as best he could, Marco descended rapidly and 
alighted directly in the path of the queer old man. 

Marco discovered, however, that to remain 
here was impossible, as the man’s breath was so 
very violent that the tiny body of the elf would 
be instantly blown back whence it came. This 
catastrophe he had no intention of allowing to 
take place, so he bound himself tightly to the 
branch of a shrub, put out his wand and stopped 
the old fellow exactly where he was. The man 
was much astonished and stared around, high and 

19 


low, to discover the power that had caused him 
to pause. At last, tied to the shrub just before 
him, he espied Marco. “Oh,” he cried, frowning 
darkly, “so it was you, was it?” And he looked 
very angry. 

“Pray, who and what are you, who dares to 
impede the progress of the North Wind himself?” 

Marco took off his cap and, bowing rather 
grandly for an elf, said: “I am a gentleman, 
which is more than can be said of the North 
Wind, it seems. I introduce to you Marco, the 
gypsy-elf. I am journeying to the home of Santa 
Claus, and by some mischance I have lost my 
way. This Santa Claus, they tell me, is a ‘jolly 
old elf’ who showers gifts on good children at the 
Christmas time. Now, I have inquired all over 
Elfland, and not one of our people has ever known 
an elf who answers this description. Where is 
his home? Does he inhabit flower cup or tree 
top? Is he so tall as I, or one-half so clever?” 

When Marco had finished this long speech the 
North Wind, having regained his good humor, 
laughed loud and long. It seemed funny that 
anyone could be so ignorant of dear old Saint 
Nick. He then explained to the elf that in addi- 
tion to being the North Wind he was also post- 
master of the Kriss Kringle Postofflce, and as it 
was now time for the Santa Claus mail, he would 
himself conduct Marco to his destination. 

Then throwing his great head up in the air he 
blew forth several terrific gusts, and instantly 
what appeared to be a terrible snowstorm came 
falling over their heads. Great white flakes fell 
in all directions. The gusts were repeated at 
intervals for several minutes, and then suddenly 
20 


the storm ceased, and the postmaster ran hither 
and thither, gathering up the flakes and putting 
them in a huge mail bag at his side. 

He told the elf that the snowstorm was made 
up of the letters to Santa Claus sent up the chim- 
neys by children all over the world. 

“But,” cried Marco, “if Santa Claus is an elf, 
how can he read those great letters, in any one of 
which I could hide away?” The North Wind 
chuckled once more and then agreed to conduct 
Marco instantly to the home of Saint Nick, where 
he could satisfy all the curiosity that he seemed 
to feel. 

Placing the elf inside his fur cap band, the 
North Wind rushed away through the grove. 
Thus Marco’s attention was again called to the 
unusual beauty of the trees. They were of cedar, 
fir and pine, with long extra leaves made of 
stockings large and small. They bore wonderful 
fruit of toys and dolls and tinkling Christmas 
bells. 

On the larger branches were large, deep-toned 
bells, while smaller branches bore the smaller 
bells. 

Up in the air above their heads were myriad 
lights like fireflies, but the North Wind explained 
that these were but sparks from the stars, which, 
in falling, had been frozen, light and all, and 
formed vari-colored Christmas candles to adorn 
the trees to-morrow. 

As they journeyed, graceful, long-antlered rein- 
deer ran in and out among the trees, while under 
a great snow shed the gypsy-elf discovered a 
sleigh of gigantic dimensions. Below some of the 
21 


trees were hung great bags which caught the 
ripened toys as the wind swayed the branches. 

“Filling Santa Claus’s packs,” explained the 
North Wind, and then with a last puff they ar- 
rived before a queer house. The house was built 
in the form of an enormous brick chimney, with 
no door or opening at the side. The entrance 
door was in the roof and, had it not been for the 
fact that the Chimney House had a chimney of 
its own, it would have been hard to discover that 
it was a house at all. Yet it was a house, and the 
home of Santa Claus! 

The North Wind extricated the little adven- 
turer, and taking him in his fingers blew him 
gently into the air like a bit of thistledown, in- 
deed. The elf floated softly upward and dropped 
through the entrance door, and Postmaster North 
Wind threw the mail bag in just behind him. 
Now, as it was Christmas Eve and Santa Claus 
had a hard night’s work before him, he was tak- 
ing a last doze in front of a big log fire when 
Marco entered. It was not until the elf fell plump 
on Santa’s nose that the old fellow ever aroused. 
The thistledown cape tickled Santa Claus’s nose 
and he gave a big sneeze, which blew the elf down 
on his thick gray beard. “Flies are mighty bad 
for Christmas,” said Santa Claus, and off he dozed 
again without once opening his eyes. 

The elf came near getting lost in Santa’s 
beard and his feet kept getting all tangled up, but 
he finally managed to climb to the mouth, and 
this tickled the good saint’s lip until he opened 
his mouth and coughed and puffed equal to the 
North Wind himself. 

“Shoo, fly!” said Santa Claus, arousing ever 
22 


so little, only to doze away once more. At this 
Marco lost patience, and crawling on his hands 
and knees up Santa Claus’s face, he laid hold on 
the saint’s eyelashes and opened one of his eyes 
by main force. 

“Fly, indeed !” said Marco, indignantly. Hear- 
ing a voice, Santa Claus sat up, rubbing his eyes 
and tumbling the elf heels over head in the air. 
Marco alighted on Saint Nick’s broad chest, and 
seating himself on one of the buttons of the big 
fur jacket he said disgustedly: “Not an elf at 
all.” 

“Wait a bit,” cried Santa Claus merrily. 
“Who are you, my little friend?” So Saint Nicho- 
las and Marco had a 'cozy talk while the fire 
blazed up the chimney of the Chimney House and 
the North Wind roared outside. 

The elf discovered that even if Santa was not 
one of the elfin band, he was about the kindliest, 
cheeriest old soul in the world. 

Afterward they read the mail together, the elf 
perched on the shoulder of the saint. They be- 
came such fast friends that it was decided that 
Marco should remain over for Christmas with 
Santa Claus. The matter being settled, Marco 
and the North Wind went out and assisted Saint 
Nick in preparing for his trip. The Wind gath- 
ered the packs, uprooted Christmas trees and 
loaded the big sleigh. Santa Claus called the 
reindeer and the elf plucked tiny sleigh bells off 
the smallest trees and attached them to every 
pronged antler. 

Then Saint Nicholas, wrapped in fur, with the 
largest pack strapped to his back, climbed into 
the sleigh, waved his hand gaily to Marco, called 

23 


to the reindeer and was off on his mission of 
cheer to all the world. Then a certain old rhyme 
ran persistently through Marco’s brain : 

“One day old Saint Nicholas made a complaint: 
‘To me ’tis quite plain why they call me a saint; 
For I, who make presents to ever so many, 

Am the only poor fellow who never gets any.’ ” 

This must not be, he decided, and, between 
them, he and the North Wind planned a surprise 
for Santa Claus. The surprise was such a very 
big surprise that Marco needed all the elves and 
fairies to assist him. 

The North Wind agreed to send special gusts 
to Fairyland and Elflanff that would waft the 
tiny folk here in the twinkling of an eye. So off 
he hurried, puffing and blowing. My! what a 
merry, disheveled band they were when they 
came. Every little curl awry, every tiny cheek 
windblown and rosy from the hurried trip. How 
they laughed and how merrily they joined in 
Marco’s plan. Not a gauzy wing but was tireless, 
not a heart but beat full of good wishes for jolly 
Saint Nick. 

A great many of the largest stockings were 
pulled, and these, the willing fingers wove to- 
gether into one big stocking quite as large as 
Santa’s pack. This stocking they hung outside 
from the roof of the Chimney House and piled it 
high with beautiful gifts that fairy fingers alone 
could fashion — robes of eiderdown for his 
sleigh, new harness for the reindeer, and a cap 
and gloves lined with their own thistledown. 
Inside, the Chimney House was garlanded with 
greenery, holly and mistletoe decking all the 
24 


place. Christmas candles were plucked from the 
frozen atmosphere and placed on every tree in the 
grove, all alight and sparkling. 

A special yule log was brought up by the 
North Wind while bonfires of pine knots glowed 
at the end of every pathway. Around the big 
stocking were other garlands studded with frozen 
dew drops, while icicles combined to form fan- 
tastic pictures in the tree tops. 

At the entrance to the grove several fir trees, 
bare of gifts, were uprooted and fastened one 
upon another to form a gigantic tree. 

This was covered immediately with a crystal 
mantle of ice and festooned with garlands of 
feathery snow by the ever-accommodating North 
Wind. 

On every leaf and branch of the tree stood a 
bright faced elf with star sparks held aloft in 
each tiny hand, and because there were so many 
elves they quite covered the tree. 

Thus when Santa Claus’s sleigh appeared re- 
turning home his eyes were greeted by a most 
beauteous sight, the light in every hand reflect- 
ing back myriad glistening rays from the ice 
mantle robing the tree. 

Then the North Wind blew violently and the 
bells on every illumined tree pealed forth the 
Christmas chimes. Santa Claus was receiving a 
rousing welcome. The reindeer caught the spirit 
and tossed their graceful heads, adding the tinkle 
of sleigh bells to the mellow tones of the others. 

The musicians among the elves floated down 
from the tree top and settled themselves all over 
the backs of the reindeer, and sang Christmas 
carols as only elves can sing. Yet another band 

25 


of wee folk danced gaily on the ground, waving 
their wands and cheering for Saint Nick. 

Then you should have seen the fun when 
Santa Claus and all the elves and fairies in a body 
reached the Chimney House and found the big 
stocking. Marco was swinging to the toe and 
waving a tiny banner with the words: “Santa 
Claus’s Own Christmas” written upon it. How 
the saint’s old eyes danced and how he laughed 
and clapped his big hands — and what do you 
think? 

When they all went inside the house and 
found the Christmas garlands, Santa Claus 
stretched forth his hand, and catching the Fairy 
Queen as she fluttered near, kissed her under the 
mistletoe. 


26 


THE KATY- DIDN’T 


M arco lay dozing in his tent. Of course 
he had no real home, but as he must rest 
and sleep somewhere he, like other gyp- 
sies, slept in a tent. His tent was made of an 
inverted calla lily bell and his couch of dried 
violet petals. Beneath his head was a pillow 
which was nothing more than a velvet rose petal 
spread over a bit of thistle down. 

Dear me, but he was sleepy, for he had danced 
and reveled with other elves for most of the night 
and he was just getting into a good sleep when 
there came such a sound as would prop open the 
eyes of a stone man. 

The sound was a long, quivering sob. Now, a 
sob under any circumstances is distressing, and 
tears desperate things to see. This sob was even 
worse than usual, for it was a fairy sob and these 
tears, while the tiniest in size, came from the 
reddest little eyes and the heaviest little heart in 
all the world. Marco knew instantly that it was 
a fairy sob. He sat bolt upright and listened 
carefully to see if he had been dreaming. 

No — there it was again. 

Up he jumped, and taking his cap and knotting 
his kerchief about his neck in true gypsy fashion, 
he peered through the tent door to see what was 
the matter. 

There, in a tiny fluffy heap before his door, lay 
27 


the most crumpled bit of femininity it had ever 
been his lot to see. 

A beautiful sprite she was, and crying as if her 
heart would break. She had thrown herself face 
downward on the ground, the spangles on her 
flower dress were soiled and dim — her whole 
attitude the picture of woe. Marco recognized 
her at once as the beautiful Fairy Echo whose 
wonderful talent of mimicry made her a charm- 
ing and celebrated sprite throughout Fairyland. 
What could have happened to cause the Fairy 
Echo any pain? 

She did not see the elf at all, but lay there beat- 
ing her sparkling little toes on the ground and 
weeping the most minute tears possible. 

Marco was too gallant a gentleman to intrude 
on a lady’s grief under ordinary circumstances, 
but when the lady throws herself, weeping, on 
your very door step, she throws herself of neces- 
sity on your mercy as well. The elf, casting aside 
his cap, bent over her and gently assisted her to 
her bits of feet. He inquired as politely as he 
could the cause of her distress. With much grief 
and more indignation she stamped her little foot 
on the ground and gasped out her trouble. 

It seemed that in her character of “Echo” 
she had gotten into an argument with some katy- 
dids. Of course the katydids could not see her, 
for fairies are rarely visible unless they choose to 
be, but they held that some fairy was responsible 
for the trouble. Each night when they sang their 
song about Katy and insisted that “Katy did,” 
Echo in a spirit of mischief went off in the dis- 
tance and, throwing her voice and imitating their 
tone exactly, argued back that “Katy didn’t.” 

28 


This had been going on for a number of years, 
and now the katydids had come out and insisted 
that some fairy was responsible, because there 
was no such insect as a “katydidn’t.” The in- 
sects were about to declare war, and the Fairy 
Queen had decreed that if the culprit were found, 
he or she should be banished from Fairyland; 
hence the dilemma of the little lady. 

It was all true. She was guilty because she 
had tried to make the insects believe a falsehood 
just for her own amusement. 

Marco pondered. 

Certainly he must cure the trouble, for Fairy- 
land would not be Fairyland without the beautiful 
Echo. 

Then came a happy thought. Ah, yes! He 
could fix it. He would come to her rescue. So 
he patted her little hand and suggested that she 
hide in his tent all day and on no account to allow 
anyone to enter. Should elf, fairy or insect pass 
that way she was to imitate his own voice and 
say that he was not to be disturbed on any ac- 
count. 

Echo promised faithfully to carry out his in- 
structions, and Marco spread his wings, waved 
farewell and flew away. 

Echo pinned together the flaps of the tent, 
after carefully hanging Marco’s cap on the out- 
side to pretend that he was there. She then 
stretched her tired little body on the violet petals, 
tossed the hair out of her eyes and went to sleep. 

Now the evening before it had been Marco’s 
good fortune to find an empty locust shell. Dur- 
ing Echo’s recital of woe it had come to his in- 
genious elfin brain that he might take the shell 
29 


and manufacture an insect that would answer 
their purpose. He started at once for the spot, 
and sure enough there lay the shell near the root 
of a tree, dry and empty. The insects are very 
shrewd, and after looking the shell over, it was 
conclusively proven to Marco that he could not 
build up an empty shell to look like a living thing 
and thus deceive them. This difficulty, too, he 
finally dissolved, and how do you think he did it? 

The Queen of the Fairies had called a meeting 
on the next night by the light of the bright new 
moon. The insects were courteously requested to 
be present in a body, that terms of peace might 
be proposed to them and agreed on, if possible. 
With this arrangement all parties were satisfied, 
and the Queen promised if the guilty fairy were 
found his banishment from her realm would im- 
mediately follow, and the katydids might go their 
way afterwards unmolested. 

The eventful night arrived. 

Many elves from the adjoining kingdom of 
Elfland were present, and practically all the 
fairies except the Fairy Echo. No one had seen 
her, nor could anyone explain her absence. 
Many of the wise ones shook their little heads 
ominously and suggested to each other that it 
was a bad night for anyone to be away. 

There was to be some fun and frolic before the 
more serious affair was taken up. The gypsy-elf, 
Marco, from Elfland, was always on hand to 
tell their fortunes, or to dance and sing for them. 
Often he performed acrobatic feats in mid air for 
their amusement, and sometimes impersonated 
the well known fairies. As chief entertainer he 
had no rival. 


30 


As the night advanced and most of the frolick- 
ing was over, there began to be requests for their 
favorite to put in his appearance. The insects 
had all arrived in their best clothes, but with 
black faces and impressive dignity. Evidently 
their anger was not yet appeased. The katydids, 
particularly, maintained an aggrieved silence. 
The Fairy Queen on her flower stamen throne, 
which was gilded with powdered star dust and 
erected on a green moss dais, looked worried and 
anxious. Her usually serene little face was white, 
and the faces of the court fairies who surrounded 
her reflected the expression of her own. 

Evidently Fairyland did not relish a war with 
the United Insect States, whose weapons of bites 
and stings were always ready for immeditae use. 

The amusements now being over, Marco still 
not having put in an appearance, and no word 
having come from the Fairy Echo, the meeting 
was called to order and the serious business of 
the occasion stated. 

The katydids put forth their grievance and 
President Beetle of the Insects was seated in state 
by the side of the Fairy Queen, only on a slightly 
lower throne. In severe tones he demanded the 
production of the culprit and his consequent ban- 
ishment, or war would be immediately declared 
against the unfortunate sprites. 

At this the Grasshopper Guards straightened 
up and looked very fierce and imposing. 

The president positively announced that, as 
President of the United Insect States, he knew 
of no such creature, winged or alive, as a “katy- 
didn’t.” He was forced to the conclusion that 

31 


some fairy was guilty of an unseemly practical 
joke at the expense of his esteemed katydids. 

Just as the Queen was about to make reply, 
there came a sudden whirr over their heads and 
down into their midst fluttered the Fairy Echo, 
rumpled and disheveled. Evidently she had had 
a long and tiresome flight, for her gauzy wings 
were drooping and the glitter gone from her 
fluffy skirts. She sank on her knees before the 
astonished Queen and preserved an attitude of 
supplication but of determination to be heard. 

The Queen, too surprised to comment on the 
battered appearance of the usually immaculate 
Echo, gave commandment for her to state her 
business hurriedly, as matters of more serious 
moment were at that time holding the attention 
of all. 

“I come, O Queen,” said the artful sprite, “to 
show the results of many a day’s anxious flight, 
and after a long and difficult search to protect 
our land from the insect invasion that threatens 
it.” Here she threw an angry glance at the 
beetle and his followers. “If President Beetle 
does not become better acquainted with the citi- 
zens of his land, he may make future serious mis- 
takes of this kind. I propose. Your Majesty, to 
produce before this assembled company the cause 
of all our trouble. I, too, have heard the katy- 
didn’t nightly reply to his kinsmen, the katydids, 
who it seems, refuse to recognize him. With 
your gracious permission the katydidn’t will ap- 
pear at my call. If the katydids still refuse him 
recognition, perhaps the locusts will be more kind, 
for he appears to be a distant connection of their 
own, to whom he bears a strong family resem- 
32 


blance. I await Your Majesty’s pleasure.” Echo 
lapsed into silence and again prostrated herself 
before the throne. 

At this there was a great commotion, the 
katydids and locusts fluttering excitedly together 
and the fairy ladies exchanging astonished but 
curious remarks behind their moth-wing fans. 
The wee gentlemen of the court tried to look as 
if they had known it all the time. 

The Queen gave the commandment at once, 
and the fairies and insects resumed their places 
and tried not to buzz or hum too loud. 

Echo craved the Queen’s gracious permission 
to retire as soon as she had produced the trou- 
blous katydidn’t, as her long flight had so ex- 
hausted her that she was unable to present a 
proper appearance in the matter of court costume. 
This, too, the Queen granted immediately, being 
impatient to see the insect that even the others 
of his own kin failed to recognize. 

Echo lifted her tired wings once more and 
floated slowly upward, making an airily, graceful 
gesture with her tiny hands as she went. 

Straightway there rapidly descended, passing 
Echo in its flight, the most remarkable looking 
insect that fairy had ever seen. It came with a 
terrible buzz and flutter, its whole appearance be- 
tokening anger at the attitude of the others of 
its kind. Its body resembled the locust, but was 
of a peculiar green color, with a shifting golden 
light that played rapidly over its length. The 
light came and went, and the green of its body 
seemed incased in a glass reflector. 

Out of the top of its head grew two horn-like 
pincers resembling those of the President him- 

33 


self, and it was possessed of at least ten legs, 
four of which were larger than all the rest. Its 
eyes bulged from its face in a peculiarly startling 
way. They were of a bright red color, and as the 
queer light ran forward and backward they 
glinted and blazed in a threatening manner. 

The creature fluttered over the heads of the 
horrified katydids, blowing fierce breaths. 

Strange to say its wings were gauzy, beautiful 
wings, not in the least resembling those of a 
katydid. As these wings were waved up and 
down with the agitated movement of the insect 
the light was reflected in myriad colors from their 
surface. 

Over the locusts’ heads the newcomer flut- 
tered, scattering a rain of pollen in the lifted eyes 
of all who watched its flight. 

President Beetle’s dignity was much disturbed 
by being familiarly tweaked on the pincers by 
one of the creature’s feet. 

The Fairy Queen was left undisturbed except 
for a beautiful star spark that was dropped just 
in the center of her crown, where it blazed be- 
comingly over her forehead. Evidently the 
strange visitor bore her no ill will, but reserved 
its revenge for those of its own kind. 

After continuing its threatening flight, brush- 
ing the dainty coiffures of the court fairies, throw- 
ing gusts of pollen everywhere, and carrying with 
it a horrible odor of pennyroyal, the creature 
finally fell at the foot of the throne, quivering 
with rage and excitement. The whole assembly 
was frightened to the verge of hysterics. The 
faces of the other insects turned a sickly gray 

34 


color, which was as near as they could come to 
turning white with fear. 

“Your name, stranger?” queried the agitated 
little sovereign, in a voice that quavered in spite 
of her apparent effort at self-control. 

Here the katydids in their excitement came 
in with their usual cry, “Katydid! Katydid!” 

Then a voice exactly of the tone and quality 
of the katydids, and which seemed to proceed 
from the creature’s own throat, chattered “Katy- 
didn’t— Katy-didn’t.” 

Then a queer thing happened. 

Some one laughed. 

It was a humorous chuckle, but just why any- 
one should have been amused at this time it was 
impossible to tell. 

The Queen and the President straightened up 
and listened intently. Deciding that they had 
been mistaken, the Queen arose from her seat on 
the throne. Turning to the President with dig- 
nity and not waiting for further explanations 
from the katy-didn’t, perhaps guessing in her 
fairy shrewdness that they might not be satis- 
factory to all parties concerned, she said: “Evi- 
dently, President Beetle, you and the katydids 
have been guilty of a grievous mistake. There 
stands the explanation of your trouble. Ladies 
and gentlemen of the court, and among our 
guests, the Insects, there will be no war. In token 
of peace” and she extended her tiny hand. 

President Beetle immediately dropped on his 
presidential knee and kissed the hand before 
them all, not appearing to notice the nervous 
movement of the little Queen when his pincers 
came too near. At this there was much applause, 

35 


humming and buzzing, and much fluttering of 
wings. In the bustle the katy-didn’t lifted its 
wings preparatory to flight, when the little Queen 
caught its wing in passing and murmured in a 
cautious tone: “We thank you, Marco, but your 
laugh came near being your undoing.” 

The katy-didn’t, too, kissed the little hand, 
and as the meeting broke up he made a hurried 
flight to the broad leaf of the big tree over their 
heads. Here the naughty elf was greeted by a 
rejuvenated Echo. After divesting himself of the 
locust shell, the beetle pincers, the damp phos- 
phorus-covered grass blade, the wild-berry eyes — 
he and that little lady proceeded to dance a 
merry measure on the broad leaf floor. 

As they danced they laughingly sang to the 
time of their pattering feet: “If not a Katy- 
didn’t, at least a big Hum-Bug.” 


36 



i ' 



p 

i 


\ 



r 






^he spider quickly hound Echo in the web, dainty wings and all being pitifully entangled. 


THE CAPTIVE FAY 


T he Fairy Echo had disappeared! 

The alarming tidings spread abroad 
through Fairyland with marvelous rapiditj^ 
followed by a feeling of sorrow and distress al- 
most unknown in the happy land. Word had 
gone forth at last night’s revel that she could not 
be found. 

Then it was that the fairies recalled the fact 
that Echo had quarreled with a few of the insects 
some time before. The ominous whisper began 
to be circulated that she might have been cap- 
tured and held prisoner by some of her late 
enemies. 

The Queen was much disturbed at the bad 
news, and when day followed day and each night’s 
moonlit dance still brought no word from her, 
her sovereign saw no recourse but to offer a re- 
ward for her safe return. 

A proclamation was read before all of the 
fairies and elves which read like this : 

“Whereas, our beautiful and esteemed Fairy 
Echo has been missing from her home for some 
weeks past ; and whereas, no word has come from 
her as to her present whereabouts, an uneasiness 
about her safety and welfare so distresses Her 
Majesty, the Queen of Fairyland, that she offers a 
reward of the handsomest wing tips in the king- 
dom to the fairy so fortunate as to bring Her 

39 


Majesty certain word of the health and safety of 
the Fairy Echo.” 

It happened, the proclamation having been 
read both in Fairyland and Elfland, that the word 
of the strange disappearance finally reached 
Marco, the gypsy-elf. 

He, like the rest, immediately laid the blame 
on the enmity of the insects. Girding on his bee- 
sting sword and taking up his water gun, he lifted 
fleet wings and floated away to her rescue. Not 
having the faintest clue as to where she was last 
seen and no suspicion as to the direction to take, 
he decided to stop at each habitation he passed to 
inquire for tidings about the missing fairy. While 
journeying along he lifted his voice in queer elfin 
calls or sang the songs of the gypsies, knowing 
that were Echo in hearing distance, she would re- 
spond by echoing his tones. 

The first stopping place proved to be the resi- 
dence of Mrs. Tree Toad. Mrs. Toad was at 
home, but was so exactly the color of her moss 
carpet that Marco came near overlooking her. 

The home was a deep hollow in the root of a 
tree. The floor was carpeted with gray-green 
moss, and in its center stood a toadstool table 
with fringed edges. The table was littered with 
piles of feathers, bits of leaves, moss, cobwebs 
and wild flowers. Mrs. Toad was busily engaged 
in trimming her new hat — “had no time,” she 
said, “to give to troublesome elves.” 

Marco took her ill humor with gay good na- 
ture, seated himself on a violet leaf and swinging 
gently up and down, explained the emergency. 
She still refused to listen until the elf, in payment 
40 


for her attention, promised to trim her hat him- 
self, should she agree to aid him in the search. 

Obtaining her promise, Marco flew with the 
hat to the top of the tree. Mrs. Toad followed, 
but her progress was necessarily slov/er, she hav- 
ing no wings and being afflicted with gout. 
When she reached the top she was delighted to 
see that the hat was completed, and was much 
the handsomest that any tree toad had worn that 
season. 

Marco had caught a feather from a blue jay’s 
wing in passing and fastened it to the crown of 
the hat with a long thorn pin. The hat was 
made of a red autumn leaf and floating from its 
brim was a cobweb veil colored red with the 
juice of wild berries, to match the hat. The hat 
pleased the toad, and she started down the tree 
once more to aid in the search, and promised to 
keep singing her rain song that Echo might an- 
swer should she come near. 

Away went the tired elf once more until a 
threatened shower, prophesied by the tree frog, 
made him look downward for a shelter. An old 
fashioned flower garden lay just below, and 
Marco, descending rapidly, succeeded in plucking 
a nasturtium leaf to use as an umbrella just as 
the storm broke. He found refuge in the sway- 
ing cup of a hollyhock and, holding his umbrella 
before the opening, sat down on the pistil until 
the rain should pass. While seated there, two 
honey bees took shelter in the blossom next his 
own and, although they spoke in subdued tones, 
his alert ears caught the following conversation: 

“They have her at last,” buzzed the first bee 
softly. 


41 


“You don’t mean it!” cried the other. “All 
the same I think they should let bygones be by- 
gones. Then, why should Mrs. Spider take up 
another’s grievance?” 

“I do not know, I’m sure,” said the first, “and 
I, for one, have no wish to prolong this unpleas- 
antness with the fairies. They make good patrons 
when I desire to sell honey or to buy nectar ; also 
if I wish an engagement to play at an entertain- 
ment, they are the first to answer my call.” 

Marco waited to hear no more, but dropping 
the nasturtium leaf, he climbed down the stalk 
of the hollyhock. Once on the ground, he cut a 
long, strong blade of grass and, making a slip 
noose, he climbed the stalk again. Throwing the 
noose skillfully over the blossom in which the 
bees were gossiping, he drew it tight, imprisoning 
the little brown occupants and immediately 
throwing them into a panic. 

Marco tied the knot tightly, and seating him- 
self astride the stem of the blossom he explained 
to them the reason of their imprisonment. If they 
did not immediately tell him whether or not the 
captive of whom they were speaking was the 
Fairy Echo and, this being the case, if they did 
not reveal both the name of her captor and place 
of imprisonment, he would keep them confined in- 
definitely, besides depriving them of their stings. 

This frightened the bees very much and they 
hastened to confess that they were speaking of 
the Fairy Echo, but knew nothing positive about 
her capture. They had been merely repeating 
what had been told them by a butterfly, lately 
out of her chrysalis. If the elf would kindly lib- 
erate them, they promised faithfully to do all in 
42 


their power to assist in his search. On their 
agreement to lead him to the home of this new- 
born butterfly, Marco slipped the grass blade 
noose from their blossom and set the frightened 
honey makers free. Off they went flying side by 
side, close together, Marco standing with one foot 
on the back of each bee. 

Soon they arrived over the bed of a beautiful 
stream of water. It was covered by water lilies 
of great size. In the heart of the largest lily dwelt 
the butterfly. Here the bees left Marco, still 
assuring him of their loyalty to the fairies and 
the elves. 

On interviewing the butterfly Marco found 
that she had come by her information while still 
in the chrysalis. She was almost ready to burst 
the shell, when she heard the voices of some 
spiders talking about an important capture they 
had made. At first, they said, they thought it was 
a fly, but on investigation they discovered who it 
was and decided to hold her for ransom. 

As to whether or not their captive was the 
Fairy Echo the butterfly did not know, but had 
strongly suspected it. All she could do to assist 
the elf would be to lead him to the spot at which 
she emerged from the chrysalis, and he would 
have to do the rest. What would he give her in 
payment for this assistance on her part? 

The elf had hard work to think of a prize great 
enough, but the butterfly finally consented if he 
would promise to assist her at any time of need. 
Marco agreed, and as they started away together, 
he took careful note of her appearance and attire. 

They traveled quite a distance until they 
reached an apple orchard. The orchard was fairly 

43 


festooned with cobwebs of great length and va- 
riety. Large wheels swung between the trees, 
and ropes and garlands of the web, some gray, 
some black, some white, hung everywhere. These 
fantastic web shapes were covered with drops of 
dew which reflected the moonlight in myriad hues. 
At the end of a twisted rope of black web that 
connected two of the largest trees, they came upon 
the butterfly’s empty chrysalis swinging in the 
breeze. 

Then the butterfly left the elf, being too 
nervous at the proximity of so many powerful 
spiders and strong webs. 

The spiders all seemed to be engaged with 
household duties; very few of them being visi- 
ble, and these so busy spinning their webs as not 
to notice the gypsy-elf. Each web was equipped 
with a long circular apartment like a cave. Here 
they kept their larders, which were usually filled 
with the bodies, alive and dead, of less powerful 
insects on which they fed. Each web also had a 
lookout. 

Now a lookout was a spider placed in charge 
of the web to watch for unwary flies and throw 
the catch web just in time. 

Marco discovered some dried sap on the trunk 
of the apple tree. Divesting himself of his doublet 
and cap, he hung them on an apple stem and pro- 
ceeded to cover his little body with the sticky sap. 
Then leaving the tree, he dropped on the petal of 
a tall sunflower and rolled over and over in the 
yellow pollen. About his head he bound his mot- 
tled kerchief, and then dusted flecks of pollen over 
his changeable elfin wings. 

What should he do now but go back to the 

44 


spider web, fold his wings and, lying down in the 
chrysalis, wrapped it closely about his body and 
awaited developments. 

On this particular web Mrs. Spider acted as 
her own lookout, but as to-day was preserving 
day, she was engaged most of the time in her 
inner room. Every now and then she came to the 
door and looked the web over in search of prey. 

Marco had not long to wait. The old spider 
moved cautiously to the door and glanced around, 
tying on her apron, which was made of a leaf of 
poison weed. Then with a muttered exclamation 
she waddled rapidly across the intervening part 
of the web toward the butterfly’s cradle. As she 
came she took out a large pair of eyeglasses and 
put them on, the better to look it over. 

Marco lay very still, now and then causing the 
chrysalis to quiver all over with his smothered 
laughter. 

‘‘Did anyone ever hear of such a thing?” 
grumbled the old spider. “It has not been more 
than two days since I caught that shell in my 
web and failed to fasten it tightly, only reaching 
it in time to see the butterfly escape me. Now, 
here’s another one in the same shell! Twins! 
Well !” The nearer she came, the more the chrys- 
alis shook, and just as she reached it and prepared 
to throw more of her cruel ropes about it — pop ! ! 
The shell burst open before her eyes and the new 
butterfly sprang out. 

The old spider fell backward with a startled 
“Oh-o-!” which caused the eyeglasses to fall off. 

Immediately this extraordinary butterfly 
jerked his water-filled gun from his pocket and 
shot her eyes full of water. Growling and threat- 

45 


ening, Mrs. Spider rolled over, while Marco made 
a dash for the door of the cave. In his hand he 
carried his sword, with which he cut apart the 
webs in his path. Inside the cave was a long, dark 
hall. Down this hall sped the gypsy-elf, crying: 
“Echo ! Echo !” as he ran. 

Clear as a bell from the lower end of the hall 
came back the echo in very truth. This room, 
too, would have been dark had it not been filled 
with captive fireflies. The cobweb across this 
door was much too strong for the bee sting sword 
to cut apart. 

Marco called to the fairy prisoner to assist, and 
they rapidly tore it apart with their hands. By 
this time Mrs. Spider had succeeded in getting the 
water out of her eyes and was coming down the 
hall. She had closed the entrance door with thick 
cobweb and was spinning all down the hall as 
she came. 

Echo was explaining the details of her capture 
to Marco as they worked, talking and pulling at 
the cruel web as fast as she could. It seems that 
the spider had not known of Echo’s trouble with 
the katydids at all, but one day while pursuing 
her vocation as an echo the venturesome fairy 
had flown too near and been caught in the spider’s 
web. Being night at the time, the spider had 
heard the fall, but not being able to see, supposed 
her to be a fly or other insect. She quickly bound 
Echo in the web, dainty wings and all being piti- 
fully entangled. Here the pretty fairy spent a 
wretched night, echoing the calls of all the insects, 
yet not being able to attract their attention 
enough to show her peril. 

The next morning Mrs. Spider, noting the im- 
46 


portant capture she had made, with an eye to 
business, had decided to hold her for ransom. 
President Beetle of the United Insect States never 
prosecuted the spiders for plying their vocation. 
They were duly licensed to catch enough unwary 
insects to keep their larder filled the year round. 
It was of no use to ask help from him, for Echo 
would merely be regarded by his uncivilized mind 
as a trophy of the chase, or perhaps a prisoner of 
war. 

Mrs. Spider, known to have weak eyes, was 
behind Marco in the dark hall during Echo’s 
story. The gypsy-elf whispered to the fireflies 
that they would make a dash for freedom through 
a side door that was scarcely more than a tiny 
hole, while the fireflies must roll in a ball to- 
gether and turn on their lights all at once. This 
would so dazzle the spider’s eyes that she could 
not see to follow. 

As soon as Echo and Marco reached the outer 
air the gypsy-elf would turn the stream from his 
water gun full on the spider until the fireflies 
could follow, and all be at liberty. 

Having cut enough of the web from across the 
door for Marco to lift the fairy through, they fol- 
lowed the above plan in detail. 

My! what a time they had. 

What growling and sputtering went on while 
the water poured in the spider’s face, and the 
passing insects beat her with their wings. 

The fireflies released, Marco and Echo walked 
down the remaining web, tight-rope fashion, until 
they reached the ground. Here the little Echo 
was so weak and faint from her long imprison- 
ment and narrow escape that she could go no 

47 


farther. She fell on the ground, her little wings 
fluttering helplessly. 

Marco immediately dispatched one firefly after 
his coat and cap from the apple stem, and several 
of the others to bring a large acron cup. This 
done, he lifted his companion into the acorn cup, 
wrapping her in his own little coat, and raised the 
cup in his arms. Up he flew, appearing for all 
the world like a tiny living aeroplane. The grate- 
ful fireflies formed a glowing body guard about 
the acorn cup basket, two of the largest attaching 
themselves to the rim in front to act as search- 
lights. Rapidly they covered the distance to 
Fairyland, and what a welcome they received! 
Such rejoicing ! Such a lovely ceremony when the 
brown gypsy-elf was presented with the hand- 
somest wing tips in Fairyland. 

The tips were made of crystallized bits of 
moonbeams, and were fastened like jewels to each 
of his fleet elfin wings. 

Then, too, what a graceful speech he made, 
assuring the fairies that the best part of all was 
not the reward, but the happy restoration to home 
and safety of the favorite fairy of the realm. He 
felt certain that this assertion found an “Echo” 
in every heart. 


48 


THE QUEEN’S CARNIVAL 


C ARNIVAL time had come. Each year in 
the golden autumn, when the time for the 
moonlit dances was almost gone. Queen 
Florita of Fairyland and the King of Elfland com- 
bined forces and gave a carnival celebrating the 
departure of summer. 

Great revelry prevailed for two glorious 
nights, and afterward the frivolous sprites settled 
down to definite preparation for the winter’s cold. 

The first night was the great ball of the season 
when the frolicsome little people danced the 
whole night through. The second, was the night 
of nights, for it was an occasion of music and sur- 
prises. Each fairy and elf who was gifted with 
keen imagination prepared a surprise for the 
others. The one whose idea was the most unique 
received the appointment of Court Fairy, which 
was only second in importance to the sovereigns 
themselves. It was regarded as a position of great 
power and distinction. 

The spot selected for the Carnival celebration 
this year was a bit of mossy ground on the brink 
of a clear forest stream. Pebbles from the bank 
of the stream were joined together by insect 
sculptors who were often rudely mentioned as 
"‘dirt-daubers.” The clay-joined pebbles were 
used for building a wall about the moss-covered 
enclosure. The Carnival ground, being directly 

49 


beneath a great tree, was in deep shadow. There 
was but little chance for moonbeams to filter 
through, therefore it became necessary to provide 
artificial lights to brighten the gala occasion. 
Forked twigs were placed on the surface of the 
wall at intervals of two inches. A glow worm 
was coiled about each twig, and on the prongs of 
its fork were fireflies inclosed in red rose petals. 
A turtle was engaged for the occasion, whose 
business it was to lie still in the center of the 
Carnival ground, with head, feet and tail drawn 
under its shell. The shell was then encircled by 
fireflies which were wrapped in flower petals 
similar to those on the wall. In this way was 
fashioned a stage with gaudy footlights, to be 
used for the surprise exhibitions. The root of a 
tree was covered with a carpet of red and yellow 
autumn leaves. On the dais thus formed were 
erected two thrones of spun glass, with cushions 
of thistledown. Over the thrones was a canopy 
made of one scarlet sweet gum leaf, fringed with 
feathery golden rod. Between the twig cande- 
labra around the wall were placed snow white 
shells with delicate pink hearts. Out of each shell 
grew a tiny wild violet, each bearing one perfect 
blossom. Just inside the walls were birch bark 
seats for the audience. The seats were arranged 
in tiers and the aisles were carpeted with moss. 
Outside the pebble wall was another wall of damp, 
phosphorescent wood, to add brilliancy to the 
scene. Refreshment booths, hung with cobweb 
streamers and pennants dyed in the crimson juice 
of wdld berries, were erected on each side the 
entrance gates. Here, acorn salad and nectar 
frappe were served from nasturtium bowls. The 
50 


booths were presided over by winsome elves in 
autumn array. 

The crowd was not long in gathering. 

The visitors from Elfland arrived in birch bark 
airships with maple leaf sails. Their King fol- 
lowed in a private aeroplane. This aeroplane was 
a walnut shell supported on the back of a patient 
dragon fly. The little monarch was gorgeous in 
his Carnival costume. His elfin green doublet and 
hose were ornamented with jeweled braid, and 
from his kingly shoulders fell a mantle of purple 
iron weed. He wore his crystal crown somewhat 
rakishly on one side, while his long, black hair 
floated about his neck. 

As soon as the elves were seated, the fairies 
fluttered through the gates in a variegated shower, 
their flower clothes in brilliant contrast to the 
soberer ones of their woodland neighbors. 

A cricket trumpeter announced the arrival of 
Queen Florita. 

Two flower attired pages dashed down the 
center aisle, scattering miniature rose buds, after 
which came the ladies and gentlemen of the court. 
Then entered the maid-of-honor, beautiful Bright- 
eyes, who was the Queen’s especial attendant; 
afterward Florita herself. She was attired in a 
lily petal gown with court train. On her head, in 
lieu of her usual crown, she wore a valley lily cap 
and snowy cobweb motor veil. She carried a 
wand which was also a scepter, the star spark on 
the end sparkling as she moved. Two pages bore 
her train, and behind her at a respectful distance 
marched the Bee Brothers’ Band. 

The Queen took her seat on the throne amid 
much applause. After due deference was made 

51 


her by King Sylvas, who occupied the other 
throne, she gave the signal for the frolic to begin. 

The trumpeter again stepped forward, gave 
two clarion calls, and through the entrance gates 
hopped a huge toad. His head was garlanded 
with a wreath of clover and in his mouth he bore 
a mussel shell. Down the aisle he hopped until 
he reached the turtle stage, when with the high- 
est hop of all he landed in its center. Then 
straightway he dropped the mussel shell, the 
drum beat a loud tattoo, and lo ! the shell opened. 
The band played a lively air, and out on the 
stage from the open shell sprang two elfin 
dancers. Brown as berries they were, a wee man 
and a wee-er lady, clothed in scarlet and pow- 
dered with pollen that floated about them in a 
golden cloud as they danced. Fast and faster 
went the nimble folk, their black eyes danced 
more rapidly than the twinkling feet, and their 
cheeks glowed warmer than their dress. 

The dance over, up they fluttered to the back 
of the frog, and away he hopped off the turtle 
stage and over the wall. 

Two black imp supers hurried forward and 
removed the empty mussel shell, and the next 
act was on. 

This proved to be a remarkable fencing match 
between two members of the Grasshopper 
Guards, the match refereed by a courtier from 
Florita’s court. 

Next came a stately minuet, danced by elfin 
gentlemen with powdered locks, and fairy ladies 
in long dresses with court trains. A Cricket 
Choir trained by beautiful Brighteyes and clothed 
in vestments, came after the minuet. They wore 

52 


expressions of deep solemnity as they filed on 
the stage, and their voices showed careful train- 
ing and natural sweetness. 

Brighteyes also wore vestments during this 
act, and a tasseled college cap on her head. 

She held a pine needle baton and directed the 
chorus with unusual ability while the audience 
applauded lustily. 

Just at this time a colony of bullfrogs in the 
neighboring stream boomed out a deafening 
bass and would not be silenced, so anxious were 
they to join in the music. King Sylvas, himself, 
was forced to ride out over the stream in his aero- 
plane and direct the imp supers to drop a hazel- 
nut into the mouth of each frog, to stop the noise. 
This done, the frogs could only rumble faintly, 
and on the return of the King, the entertainment 
proceeded. 

An elfin insect trainer appeared with seven 
trained spiders. The spiders were of the horrible 
variety with long fuzzy legs. Now this fuzz had 
been blondined with yellow pollen and the spiders 
were blindfolded. Each one wore a cape of purple 
pansy petals. The largest spider turned on its 
side and commenced to slowly revolve like a 
great wheel. As he revolved each of the other 
six jumped on one of his feet and turned about 
like smaller wheels in an opposite direction. This 
formed a wondrous sight, the yellow legs, black 
bodies and purple mantles whirling dizzily in 
the fireflies’ glow. 

The act over, a startling incident occurred. 
Every firefly and glow worm shut off his light, 
and no gleam was there save the soft shimmer of 
the phosphorous. Then the music became a 

53 


whisper, and up in the branches of the tree a 
mocking bird began to sing. A strange, sweet 
melody it was, and the elves and fairies hushed 
their merriment to listen. 

King Sylvas caught Florita’s hand in a sort 
of ecstasy, when down from the tree, exactly as 
if wafted on the song of the bird, fluttered a large, 
black butterfly. It had crimson spots on its 
wings and it was followed by four golden but- 
terflies. Each of the golden butterflies bore glit- 
tering fireflies on its outstretched wings. The 
large, black butterfly took a position in mid air 
directly over the turtle shell. The four yellow 
butterflies then paused, one at the head, another 
at the feet, and the other two at each of the wings, 
of the black beauty. In this way a beautiful 
picture was made in the air, a picture of a bril- 
liant cross made of butterflies and lighted by 
fireflies. 

As the bird’s song grew louder and more rip- 
plingly sweet a shower of tiny rose and white 
moths appeared, bearing baby fireflies between 
their wings, and these formed a jeweled chain 
festooning the cross. The cross and chain were 
never still, the butterflies of the cross keeping up 
the shimmering quiver pecular to their kind; 
and the moths flying rapidly one behind another 
around and around the cross. Next a circle of 
blue butterflies flecked with star dust descended 
in a sparkling mass and circled slowly in undu- 
lations between the links of the chain. Then 
more butterflies of gold, and purple, and brown, 
followed in quick succession. 

With each new shower the audience broke 
forth in prolonged applause, and one of the bull- 

54 


frogs suddenly swallowed his hazelnut and 
could only croak his approval in a loud, dis- 
cordant note that almost spoiled the enchanting 
picture. 

The butterfly pageant went on, the lights of 
all the glow worms and fireflies were flashed 
forth, and the harvest moon burst through a 
fissure in the leaves in one brilliant, silver beam 
that shone like a halo directly on the cross. 

Immediately there went up a shout: *‘The 
Court Fairy! the Court Fairy!” 

“Who trained the butterflies?” 

“Whose thought was it?” 

“He’ll be Court Fairy.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Who is he?” 

In answer to the cries the mocking bird song- 
ster up in the tree spread its wings and descended 
to the turtle shell. On the bird’s tail stood a 
black imp, spraying perfumed nectar from a 
honeysuckle atomizer over the audience. On the 
bird’s back stood — what do you think? 

There between its outspread wings was a 
tiger lily tent with a tassel of goldenrod on its 
top. Inside the tent, beating a tambourine with 
gay abandon, his saucy head on one side — was 
seated Marco, the gypsy-elf, smiling at the suc- 
cess of his scheme. He stepped from the tent 
and sprang on the head of the turtle, for the poor 
tired creature had jerked his head out of his 
shell to see the cause of the tumult. The elf put 
his hand on his heart and, facing the King and 
Queen, dropped on one knee. At this, all the 

55 


butterflies swooped down around him in a 
bow cloud, and the mocking bird burst into 
The Carnival was over. 


rain- 

song. 


56 


A GHOST STORY 


M arco, the gypsy-elf, having grown tired 
of the monotony of a long, solitary even- 
ing in his tent, went to the door to see 
what he could see. He had a great head for mis- 
chief, and whenever he was in the mood that he 
was to-day, something was liable to happen. 
More than likely it would be something that 
ought not to happen and that the elf would find 
himself sorry for afterward. As he stood between 
the petal curtains of his Easter lily tent, whom 
should he spy, springing daintily from one nod- 
ding grass blade to another, but the Fairy Echo. 
She looked particularly winsome to-day, with a 
violet cap surrounding her rosy little face. Her 
dress was made of white violet petals, caught 
about her waist with a lily stamen cord. When 
she caught sight of the bored elf standing at 
his door she waved a friendly hand in greeting. 
Then she lifted airy wings, floated upward and 
three times around the tent, just escaping Marco’s 
eager arms stretched out to catch her. With a 
merry laugh she dropped upon the roof of the 
tent and, seating herself amid a flutter of skirts, 
proceeded to coast swiftly down the side. 

Marco caught her just as she reached the 
ground. 

“What shall we do?” she asked, spinning 

57 


about on her toes and fanning herself with her 
wings. 

“Well,” said the elf, “yonder lies a cockle burr, 
and there are many possibilities for both fun and 
trouble in a cockle burr.” 

“Then fun first,” said the fairy. “I’ll race you 
to it, and see which can stand on its prickles long- 
est without flinching.” 

Away they went and, alighting on the burr, 
proceeded to dance a merry jig step on its prick- 
les, for neither could stand still a moment with- 
out changing position. 

While frolicking in this manner they saw in 
the distance, flying along swiftly and as if bent 
on mischief, the Bad Fairy. 

Now the Bad Fairy was so very bad, indeed, 
that he was always making trouble for some one, 
yet never seemed to have any himself. 

The happy thought struck the gypsy-elf that 
it would be quite a feather in the cap of either 
Echo or himself to give the Bad Fairy some 
troubles of his own. He had needed punishment 
for his wicked deeds for a long while, and Marco 
decided to do this, in his own way. 

The Bad Fairy had not discovered the two 
cockle burr dancers, and no sooner had the 
thought come to Marco than he dragged Echo 
off the burr and whispered in her ear : 

“That was the fun of the burr, and now for 
the trouble,” and he confided to her the rest of 
his plan. 

They plucked a large, soft leaf from a neigh- 
boring bush, and spread it in inviting folds over 
the top of the prickly burr. Then they dropped 
58 


flat on the ground, and wriggled their little bodies 
well out of sight behind the deceptive couch. 

Along came the unsuspecting Bad Fairy, 
flying straight toward them. In his hand he 
carried a cruel thorn, with which he prodded and 
cut every harmless insect that he passed. He cut 
off the heads of some, and the legs and wings 
of others, leaving them to suffer and die alone. 
He seemed to be very tired, for he had flown 
very rapidly ; but on arriving at the pretty, 
green couch, it appeared so soft and inviting, that 
he folded his wings and allowed himself to drop 
upon it with great force. 

The leaf immediately split in many places, per- 
mitting the sharp prickles to puncture the wicked 
fellow. He arose with a howl of rage and pain, 
only to perceive Marco rolling over on the ground 
in fits of laughter. 

Of course the gypsy-elf would not have found 
this pleasure in another’s pain, had the other not 
have been noted for many cruelties. 

Echo remained hidden, but she laughed so 
much that the violet cap fell off and her golden 
hair tumbled in a radiant shower over her 
shoulders. 

The Bad Fairy grasped the cruel thorn firmly 
and, advancing upon Marco, made a terrible lunge 
toward him. 

The elf, seeing a chance at more fun, sprang 
backward, leading the other on. After much 
sword play the gypsy-elf fell on the ground with 
a loud groan. 

The Bad Fairy, supposing he was dead, took 
one fearful look at him, lifted his wings in ter- 
ror and flew hurriedly away. He realized that 

59 


if Marco were dead, both King Sylvas of Elfland 
and Queen Florita of the Fairies would never 
allow his murderer to escape. No sooner was the 
Bad Fairy out of sight than Echo ran from her 
hiding place and called out: 

“Humbug, what is the idea this time?” 

The naughty elf rose from the ground unhurt, 
and with a merry laugh shook his black hair out 
of his eyes and adjusted the gypsy kerchief about 
his neck. 

“My dear, you ought to be crying over my 
mishap, instead of speaking disrespectfully of the 
dead,” he said reprovingly. 

Echo refused to be satisfied. “No — no — but 
what is your scheme? Why did you pretend to 
be killed? What are you going to do now? Tell 
me. 

On seeing that she meant to hear the plan, 
Marco explained: 

“He is a wicked fairy. He frightens and 
hurts elves and fairies who have done him no 
wrong. I shall pretend to be dead, and haunt him. 
He shall confess his crimes and be sorry for them. 
Wait and see.” Marco sat down on the ground 
and hugged his knees, his eyes twinkling. 

This was an idea indeed! 

The two put their naughty heads together un- 
til the whole plot was arranged. 

King Sylvas was giving a ball that evening in 
honor of the Fairy Queen. What better time to 
haunt the Bad Fairy than when he was in even- 
ing clothes and on his way to the grand affair? 

That night the palace of Elfland, made en- 
tirely of transparent rose-pink sea shells, was 
ablaze with lights. It was festooned inside and 
6o 


out with long streamers of soft green moss 
starred with pink rose petals to match the walls. 
Black imp servants hurried to and fro, serving 
the guests, who included the entire fairy band and 
all the elves of note. 

King Sylvas was determined that no fairy 
should be left out, and thereby cause Queen 
Florita any distress. 

Elfland’s King was becoming much smitten 
with the little ruler of the neighboring kingdom, 
and this ball was to be an especial effort. 

When most of the guests had assembled and 
the dancing was in full swing, the Bad Fairy en- 
tered, all dressed in red rose petals, for all the 
world like a fairy Mephisto. He swaggered all 
around the ball room with quite an air, dancing 
with all the prettiest elves. The fairies refused 
to dance with him because he was the Bad 
Fairy, until he came to the Fairy Echo. 

Now, Marco had cautioned her to persuade 
the Bad Fairy to sit out the dance with her, 
should he ask her to dance. 

Already many had asked for Marco, and King 
Sylvas was much annoyed that the gypsy-elf 
should show a disregard for his wishes, by fail- 
ing to put in an appearance. 

Every time Marco’s name was mentioned the 
Bad Fairy, supposing that he had committed 
murder, trembled all over and turned a shade 
paler than before. At last so very white did he be- 
come that Echo’s kind heart nearly failed her; 
but, true to her promise to the gypsy-elf, she led 
the Bad Fairy out into the quiet summer dark- 
ness. They seated themselves under a mush- 
room arbor with tasseled fringe reaching nearly 

6i 


to the ground. The Bad Fairy was at outs with 
all the other fairies on account of his many mis- 
deeds, and not a few wondered at Echo for be- 
ing polite to a fairy guilty of so much wrong. 
Nevertheless they sat out in the arbor while the 
night grew darker and darker. Great, black 
clouds came up, and they could scarcely see each 
other except when a tiny gleam of light flashed 
from the palace through the fringe. 

Suddenly a faint light appeared that passed 
like a streak of lightning around the arbor. 

The Bad Fairy jumped and, catching Echo’s 
little hand, stammered nervously: 

‘‘Wha-what was that?” 

“What was what?” asked Echo innocently. 

“Di-didn’t you see anything?” gasped the 
wicked fellow; then recovering himself, he mur- 
mured: “Ah, yes; I see it was only the light- 
ning, for I hear the thunder now.” 

Quietly they resumed their conversation, Echo 
loosening her hand from his cold one. 

All at once in the darkest part of the arbor, 
quite close to where they were seated, the fringe 
of the mushroom parted. Marco’s ghost stood 
before them! 

The Bad Fairy knew it to be Marco’s ghost 
at once and, with a groan of terror, fell on the 
ground at Echo’s feet, clasping her knees and 
begging for mercy. 

The ghost was quite white. The same trim 
little woodland suit that the gypsy-elf had worn 
during his lifetime clung to this eerie shape, but 
now it was pure white and surrounded by a faint, 
ethereal radiance like a halo. His hair, formerly 
black, was like driven snow, and blowing back 
62 


from his ashy face in wild disorder. The eyes 
were deep and sunken, and the wings reached to 
the ground in majestic dignity, like those of an 
angel. Marco was not particularly well versed 
in ghost language, but he consoled himself with 
the reflection that on this score his victim was 
no wiser than himself. He felt sure that some 
sound must be made just at this moment to make 
the fright perfect, and the reformation of the 
wicked fairy complete. He had brought along a 
bit of cotton string covered with resin, which he 
now proceeded to draw through his hands, emit- 
ting a despairing shriek. Then, to add to the 
horror, over on the ground tumbled Marco, in 
exactly the way he had fallen when the Bad 
Fairy supposed he was dying. As he fell, the 
elf gave the same cry, and the resin shrieked, but 
it was as nothing to the shriek given by the 
goaded fairy. 

Echo shook herself free from his frantic 
grasp, and as the guests rushed from the palace 
in crowds to learn the cause of such cries the 
storm broke in all its fury. The Fairy Echo 
slipped unnoticed through the company, and 
grasped the hand of the ghost, who immediately 
disguised his own white radiance as well as the 
little lady under a dark cloak. They vanished in 
the darkness, just in the nick of time. The last 
thing they saw, as they crept away, was the 
frightened fairy on his knees before Reverend Mr. 
Jack of Jack-in-the-Pulpit fame, confessing all 
his crimes, including the murder of Marco, the 
gypsy-elf. 

Of course this caused the wildest excitement 
and grief, for Marco was much beloved. Bitter 

63 


were the threats uttered by both elf and fairy 
against his murderer, for all believed the con- 
fession true. 

Even the wicked one, himself, considered that 
in this one rare instance he had spoken truth. 

After a time the excitement subsided, and the 
tardy appearance of the gypsy-elf at the ball, in 
the flesh, allayed the fears as to his death. 

The ghost remained a mystery to all except 
the Rev. Mr. Jack. He had a quiet laugh to him- 
self when Marco boasted that he had accom- 
plished more toward reforming the Bad Fairy by 
a little pollen and damp phosphorous than the 
minister had with his excellent sermons. 


64 


DOCTOR MARCO 


O NE bright summer morning in an old fash- 
ioned garden of roses, as Marco floated 
idly from flower to flower, sipping nectar, 
he came upon a crowd of multicolored fairy folk 
attired in the smartest of new bathing suits. 
They were taking a morning dip in the gorgeous 
blossoms of a beautiful pink rose bush. Much 
amazed at the sight, the gypsy-elf hastened to 
join them. The garden was filled with beautiful 
flowers, each with a plentiful supply of dew — then 
why the necessity of the entire band bathing in 
the blooms of this especial bush? 

On his arrival the fairies, looking rosy, fresh, 
and bright-eyed in their play, hailed him with de- 
light. They called merry “good mornings” to 
him and offered him a bathing suit. Each fairy 
had a flower to himself. 

A strange circumstance to Marco was that the 
rose bush, itself, looked very despondent. The 
fairies were the only ones who were having the 
fun. 

The rose’s rich green foliage was drooping 
toward the ground and turning yellow. 

While Marco was replying to the sallies of 
the bathers, his observant eye was gazing at the 
flower critically. 

Drops of water trickled from it down on the 
ground. Every now and then a quiver passed 

65 


over the bush, as if it were in pain. Turning to 
the frolicsome folk, Marco asked: “Why did all 
of you choose the same rose bush? Are there not 
hundreds of blooming plants around, laden with 
freshest morning dew? Why did you choose this 
one particularly?” 

“Oh,” cried Brighteyes, merrily, “we have been 
coming here every morning for weeks. You see 
the dew on this flower is salt water.” 

“What!” cried the astounded elf. “What 
made it salt?” 

Brighteyes dived quite to the bottom of the 
largest rose before answering, then reappeared 
with her curls in wet disorder. The striped-grass 
bathing suit clung to her lithe body. 

“We did not try to solve the problem. It is 
too hot and, as mortals say, ‘Come on in — the 
water’s fine.’ ” 

Away she splashed, shaking off both water 
and responsibility at the same time. 

Not satisfied, the gypsy-elf drew slightly aloof 
from the crowd and continued to study the 
flower. Drop — drop — drop, went the water to 
the ground, and as quickly as they were emptied 
did the blossoms fill again. It was even as Marco 
had suspected. The water constantly dripping 
and disappearing was not dew. Whoever heard 
of dew replenishing itself? Something was 
troubling the pretty flower. The poor thing was 
weeping. The salt baths of the fairies were be- 
ing supplied by the tears of a beautiful rose. 

On discovering the true condition of affairs, 
Marco sought Queen Florita among the bathers. 
Yes, there she was, though you could scarcely 
recognize her, thus shed of her court dress, and 
66 


attired in a purple pansy bathing suit with her 
royal golden hair in curls and ripples about her 
shoulders. 

Marco confided his suspicions to the pinkest 
little ear in Fairyland; but as this ear also be- 
longed to the kindest little heart, the Queen 
called the fairy band about her and told the rose’s 
story. 

Immediately each one wished to find the cause 
of the trouble, and comfort the rose in her grief. 
Dispatching a messenger for King Sylvas and the 
elves to come to their assistance, the fairies took 
hands and circled the rose bush, chanting a 
weirdly pretty air expressing their contrition. 
They did this in repentance that all of their sport 
for several weeks should have come through the 
sorrow of another. With much excitement, and 
attended by a fluttering brown and green flock of 
elves, Sylvas arrived and was enlightened as to 
the message. 

The gypsy-elf was spokesman, and he ex- 
plained that some insect was at the rose’s root, 
eating away its life. Evidently the flower was 
suffering, and he called attention to the ground 
beneath, soft and muddy from the continuous 
shower of tears. Of course if an insect were re- 
sponsible they could expect no assistance from 
the other insects. They must wait until the dark- 
est hour of the night to begin operations, with- 
out even asking the fireflies for light, or the Grass- 
hopper Guards for assistance, in any battle that 
might occur. 

While Marco was speaking, several very tiny 
ants passed by, nodding good-morning, but ap- 
67 


parently paying no attention to the fairy conclave 
under the rose. 

Marco signaled significantly to Sylvas, who 
placed his hand on his sword, but at another 
warning gesture, thought better of it, and only 
stared in the direction the ants had taken. 

At this interchange of signals all eyes turned 
in the same way. 

What should they see but a tiny ant-hole just 
to one side of the rose bush! Even as they 
looked more ants passed them, going into the 
hole, until they formed a steady procession. 

All the elves and fairies became very quiet. 

The more ants that went into the hole, the 
faster fell the rose’s tears, until the fairies were 
glad that they still wore their bathing suits, and 
the elves sought shelter under a neighboring 
shrub. 

The last ants to appear were forced to swim 
to the hole. As they passed within. King Sylvas 
pushed forward and, motioning some of the 
elves to assist him, with his own hands placed a 
large pebble over the hole. This would shut them 
in for a while at least, but they would soon make 
their way out. 

A plan must be adopted and the conference 
ended as soon as possible. They were now rea- 
sonably certain that the ants were causing the 
rose’s ailment, and Marco was asked for a remedy. 

“The rose,” he replied impressively, “shall be 
healed,” whereat they clapped their tiny hands 
and gave a cheer for “Doctor Marco.” 

The gypsy-elf directing, both the elves and 
fairies fell to work, digging about the rose’s roots 
with large thorn spades. 

68 


Marco, assisted by the strongest elves, dug a 
large cave-like hole in the ground. After a long 
while they could tell by the voices of the ants 
that they had dug quite to the rose’s roots. 

He then persuaded a kind bird to bring them 
a bit of cane. The cane was full of knots and 
pith, but by constantly working until almost dark, 
they cleared it out and pushed the cane through 
their cave and into the ground. This was to form 
a passageway large enough for a fairy to crawl 
down to the roots and discover what part the ants 
were playing. 

They procured several glow worms to light 
the way, both through the passage and down un- 
der ground, stationing a guard of fairies and elves 
with drawn thorns about the rose bush. Then, 
one by one, the elves coasted down the cane pas- 
sage into the ground. 

The glow worms were very sullen and un- 
ruly. Marco ordered a black imp to stand over 
each one with a bit of briar to prick him into line. 
The gypsy-elf more than half suspected the worms 
of siding with the insects, from having such con- 
stant association with the fireflies. After feeling 
the briars a few times, however, the sullen crea- 
tures thought better of it and shed their light at 
Marco’s command. 

Sylvas, as became a king who was the leader 
of his people, made the descent first. Marco fol- 
lowed, and then all of the elfin gentlemen, armed 
with thorns and carrying acorn cups filled with 
medicine. Four black imps went next, each pair 
carrying a very long thorn. 

The fairy gentlemen were left above ground 
69 


to protect the ladies of both bands and to guard 
the ant-hole exit. 

Any stray insect that fluttered near was to be 
instantly swallowed by the friendly bird who had 
brought the cane. 

It was dark by this time, and the bird was 
asleep with his head under his wing. Florita 
seated herself on his back and awakened him with 
her sceptre every time an insect came near. 

The ants, being in such numbers, would be as 
much as both bands of little people at once could 
handle. 

Very soon the fairies above ground became 
aware that a fierce battle was taking place under 
ground. There were cries and screams, the sound 
of scuffling, and then a powerful odor of medicine. 
This medicine was originally intended to heal the 
wounds of the poor injured rose, but was also 
being used to heal those hurt in the fight. 

Suddenly a little whirr overhead announced 
the arrival of a belated fairy. 

It was Echo. 

No sooner was she made acquainted with the 
cause of the trouble than she broke loose from the 
restraining hands of the gentlemen who tried to 
bar her way. Sitting flat down on the incline of 
the cane cave, she coasted straight down and 
landed in the very thick of the fray. She took out 
her wand, one of the most powerful in Fairyland, 
and waved it backward and forward, tumbling the 
wicked ants over on their backs, where the elves 
immediately dispatched them. In return, hun- 
dreds of their comrade ants went for her little feet, 
and, climbing all over her face and body, they 
stung her unmercifully from head to toe. 

70 


By this time, although the glow worm light was 
low, Sylvas and Marco suddenly perceived her. 
They made a dash for her side, swept the stinging 
ants away and ordered her back above ground. 
She merely laughed in their faces, and although 
her own little face was swelled to twice its natural 
size, she continued to fight, cheering the elves 
with her ringing voice. She trampled the ants 
with her tiny feet, and echoed her own cheers for 
the benefit of the listeners above. 

The rose’s tears suddenly ceased, and it drew 
such a sigh of relief that its roots were slightly 
lifted, causing a rather violent earthquake. It 
threatened to fill the cane passage with loose 
earth, and had the sigh continued, might have 
buried the venturesome elves alive. The rose set- 
tled quietly down again, and the battle ended in a 
great victory for the elves. 

The imps went about impaling the dead ants 
on the long thorns. 

The place where the battle had occurred was 
a large cleared space like a cavern to one side of 
the main roots. The ant-hole led directly to this 
cavern on one side, and the cane passage of the 
elves on the other. In the midst of it, and just be- 
neath the bush was the ant hill. 

The imps carried the dead ants above the 
ground. Many elves and fairies were cruelly 
stung, but none seriously injured. Marco poured 
the medicine about the rose’s roots and, seeing the 
cause, understood the pain and salty tears. The 
elves had come none too soon, and if ever a flower 
smiled and resumed her color, this lovely one did. 

King Sylvas and Marco next made a stretcher 
out of Marco’s cape and Echo’s skirt. Lifting the 

71 


still cheerful but much battered little Echo from 
the ant nest where she sat nursing her wounds, 
they placed her upon the stretcher. 

Next the problem presented itself as to a way 
to carry her through the cane, when it did not 
admit of either elf standing upright. Marco set- 
tled this by sending Sylvas on ahead to conduct 
the army of fighters by the glow worm’s light, 
back above ground. No one was left but Marco 
and the suffering fairy. This was exactly as 
Marco wished. He attached the end of the 
stretcher to his waist by means of Echo’s long 
sash. He dropped on his hands and knees and 
crawled up the cane, dragging the stretcher be- 
hind, for all the world as if they were playing 
horse. Just before emerging into the light where 
the other elves were gathered, Marco paused. 
Turning back to the funny vehicle with its pretty 
passenger, the gypsy-elf horse left on the fattest 
of little swelled cheeks, “a kiss like the drip of a 
drop of dew.” 


72 


CHRISTMAS IN FAIRYLAND 


T he fairies had gone into winter quarters. 
Cold weather had arrived in earnest, and no 
flower-cup homes were left them, so they 
were cozily ensconced inside of tree roots or were 
boarding in the tree tops with Mrs. Flying Squir- 
rel. Others becoming faint-hearted, had floated 
on gauzy wings to the warm countries. Enough 
remained, however, to make a goodly number for 
a genuine Christmas merrymaking. The beautiful 
Florita, Queen of the Fairies, and Brighteyes, 
chief Maid-of-Honor to Her Majesty, were the 
promoters of the scheme. 

They had engaged from the adjoining King- 
dom of Elfland as chief entertainer for the occa- 
sion, Marco, the gypsy-elf. 

The fairies and elves invariably depended on 
Marco to originate some surprise to add zest to 
every occasion. As his brain was the brightest, 
his wings the fleetest and his heart the kindest in 
all the combined kingdoms, they chose wisely and 
well. 

With his bee-sting sword at his waist, his long- 
pointed elfin shoes and a rose-petal kerchief 
knotted about his head in true gypsy fashion, he 
made a winsome picture. 

Now every little brain was active, each tiny 
pair of hands busy, and all the gauzy wings un- 
tiring in eager preparation. 

73 


Such gayety had not been known in Fairyland 
in all their moonlit summer frolics heretofore. 

Princess Brighteyes was talking of it to the 
Queen. 

“And have you heard, Your Majesty,” she said, 
“Marco tells me he has prepared the greatest sur- 
prise — something not one of us has ever seen be- 
fore.” 

“That, my dear,” said the Queen with dignity, 
“is precisely for what I engaged him.” 

Catching her feather boa closer about her tiny 
throat she hurried away to see if her orders con- 
cerning the assembly hall for Christmas night 
had been carried out. 

Brighteyes followed the Queen to the hall, 
which had been fitted up in the interior of the 
hollow stump of a pine tree, sweet with the odor 
of resin and the suggestion of glowing Christmas 
fires. As the two fairies entered, active spiders 
and silk worms were festooning the walls with 
cobweb and silken ropes. Some of these ropes 
were strung with crimson berries, and some en- 
twined with Christmas greenery. 

It was Christmas Eve, and little time was left 
them. 

Many black inips hurried to and fro at Marco’s 
bidding. He, being master of ceremonies, stood in 
the center of the room, even the decorations com- 
ing under his critical eye. 

A cheerful fire of small pine knots and cedar 
balls burned in a fireplace and roared up an old- 
fashioned chimney of tiny bricks. 

A chandelier constructed of a cluster of thorns 
swung from the center of the ceiling. Around the 
principal branch curled a glow worm, while on 

74 


the point of each thorn was impaled a holly berry 
hollowed out and imprisoning a baby firefly im- 
ported from the summer time of other lands. 

Mistletoe berries strung on dried grass blades 
festooned the chandeliers, with a branch of mis- 
tletoe leaves swinging below. 

The spiders hung cobweb draperies over the 
walls to which they attached tiny wreaths ; seats 
placed around the walls were covered with this- 
tledown left from last spring’s thistles, over which 
were spread covering of woven pine needles. 

Just beneath the chandelier was the greatest 
triumph of all — the fairy Christmas tree; a wee 
cedar garlanded with crimson and white berries, 
glittering with myriad fireflies, drooping with 
fairy gifts, and quaintest, tiniest cobweb stock- 
ings. Chains formed of particles of sand strung 
together, like diamonds, held the gifts in place. 

When the gala time, Christmas night, arrived, 
the excitement was at fever heat. 

The Queen and Brighteyes had intimated that 
Marco had prepared a genuine surprise of the na- 
ture of which even Florita and the Maid-of-Honor 
were to be ignorant. The guesses and speculation 
increased as the night advanced and the elf had 
not appeared. 

The fairy folk spent the interval admiring each 
other in wintry attire. 

No gossamer skirts now, if you please, but 
heavy silken garments lined with down of dande- 
lions and fashioned by the skillful Mrs. Silkworm; 
feather boas made from the neck feathers of the 
humming bird; shoes and gloves of holly berry 
skins, and warmest cobweb hoods. 

The lights shone brightly and, as the fairies 
75 


became merrier, in marched the Bee Brothers’ 
Band, and the Cricket Chorus. Suddenly, amid 
the wildest commotion and shouts of tinkling 
fairy laughter, who should appear coming down 
the wall precisely like he was right out of the 
chimney, but a fairy Santa Claus! 

Hurrah! but he was a picture! Marco, the 
elf, in a bit of white rabbit skin with a mere speck 
of a rabbit’s cotton tail for a Santa Claus beard. 

He kept his wings folded so they would not 
interfere with the traditional pack that he bore 
on his back. 

How they cheered, and how merrily the 
rogue’s eyes twinked as he deposited his pack on 
the floor, turned and gave a whistle like a signal. 

Immediately, in answer to the call, there 
pranced through the door and around the tree, 
their pincers held high like antlers, eight beetle 
reindeer drawing a walnut shell sleigh. 

The sleigh caused almost as much amusement 
as the Santa himself, even the beetles smiling 
broadly and entering into the game with zest. 

Santa Claus now began the distribution of the 
presents, consisting of moth-wing fans, feather 
boas, thorn and bee-sting swords, acorn punch 
bowls and many other things. 

The hour grew late and the fairies agreed that 
even ethereal beings, such as they, must needs 
be fed. 

Gaily they gathered around a sycamore bark 
dining table, spread with silken cloth and glit- 
tering with fish-scale plate. 

Queen Florita presided at the head of the 
table, with Princess Brighteyes at her right and 
Santa Claus Marco at the foot. 

76 


In front of the Queen was a minnow roasted 
whole with a holly berry in its mouth. 

There were canary birds’ tongue, holly berry 
salad served in the berry on a bit of holly leaf, 
apple seed fritters and acorn croquettes. 

This was followed by mistletoe berry ice and 
bottled nectar. Black imps from Imptown, in 
white coats and aprons, attended on their wants. 

Strains of music were heard from the corner 
where the potted cedar screened the musicians 
from view. 

The Bee Brothers’ Band began a plaintive 
melody, and forth on the air came a Christmas 
carol sung by the Cricket Chorus. 

This brought forth rounds of applause and 
the little folk hurried from the table and cleared 
the floor for dancing. 

Marco chose the Princess Brighteyes for his 
partner in the dance. 

Dear, dear! 

Poor mortals grow vain of their dancing, but 
’tis nothing to the airy tripping of those flying 
fairy feet. Waltz followed one-step in quick suc- 
cession, then as finale, the grand march. 

Now the dance is over. 

The gay revelers hurry home, the tired fire- 
flies sleep at their posts and the beetles lie down 
in their harness. 

The decorations are drooping, the fire smold- 
ers, and even the little Santa Claus dreams. 


77 


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MARCO ADOPTS A FAMILY 


M arco lay down in the heart of a rose to 
rest a bit. It was a soft, pink rose and 
the petals were like velvet. The day was 
cool and the gypsy-elf drew the warm petals 
about his little body and went to sleep. Just how 
long he had slept he did not know, when he felt 
a sharp prick in his side. 

My! what a wrench that was; then another 
and another. 

By this time the small gypsy was wide awake 
and very angry. Who was it, anyhow, that dared 
to so rudely disturb a gentleman in his nap by 
pricks in the side which were almost stabs? 

The indignant elf arose and, catching up his 
elfin wand which lay by his side, threw off the 
enveloping rose petals and stepped out into the 
sunlight to acquaint himself with his unknown 
enemy. 

Aha! there she was. 

A lady humming bird, who, on a search for 
nectar and insects in the heart of the rose found, 
instead, a very brown and angry elf. On per- 
ceiving Marco with wand upheld, the humming 
bird, nothing daunted, again swooped upon the 
rose with sudden whirr of wings and eager bill. 
Then Marco, too indignant to consider the result 
of his action, drew three circles about his head 
with the wand and, thrusting it suddenly toward 
the luckless bird, she fell with feeble flutterings 

79 


to the ground. Not until the bird had ceased to 
struggle did the gypsy-elf realize the terrible ex- 
tent to which his anger had been carried. Then 
in a spasm of remorse he flew swiftly to the 
ground and bent over the little dead bird. Its 
glittering crimson, green, and gold plumage, its 
dusky wings and wide spreading tail lay flat and 
motionless in the dust, its pretty eyes were half 
closed and its little feet turned upward. 

Marco was a tender hearted elf, and immedi- 
ately on realizing the extent of the harm done, 
the pathetic possibility suddenly occurred to him 
of the humming bird’s having a hungry family 
for which to provide. No sooner had this 
thought come to him, than also the resolve to 
find and care for them himself. Knowing the 
habits of the birds, Marco remembered that the 
father humming bird rarely troubles himself to 
look after his brood. Then, too, it was due to 
the elf’s own wicked temper that the little birds 
were left to battle with the world alone and 
motherless. Had he permitted her to live and 
continue her search for insect food for them, all 
might have yet been well. 

The repentant elf then lifted the pretty crest 
of feathers about the little mother’s neck to see 
if there were any clew to her dwelling place. He 
recalled that lady humming birds of fashion 
often wore their names and addresses stamped 
on their feathers. Lifting the wing he discovered 
it in letters of gold on the under side of one of 
the dusky feathers: 

Mrs. Tom Inejo, 

No. 2 Althea Avenue West, 

Briarcliff Garden. 

8o 


Marco knew Briarcliff Garden very well, it 
being the home of many of his friends, the flower- 
dwelling fairies ; and if this were the bird’s home 
no doubt he would find it without trouble. First, 
the bird must be buried, and to this sad task the 
tiny gypsy immediately applied himself. Find- 
ing a long, soft cobweb festooning a branch of 
the rose bush, Marco manfully struggled to raise 
the body of the bird enough to wind the web 
gently about it. Afterward he plucked a large 
thorn from the bush and dug the grave, lining it 
with soft moss and the pink petals of the rose. 

Calling a passing beetle to his assistance, they 
placed the bird in a curly bit of sycamore bark 
and lowered it into the rose and green resting 
place. 

Then they rapidly filled the grave, and the 
rose bush kindly showered down more velvet 
petals until it was quite hidden in a rosy cloud. 
Marco then fashioned a head stone by fastening 
several thorns together, the point of each at- 
tached to the top of the one before, forming a 
pretty cross. This done, he thanked the accom- 
modating beetle and rose into the air on his fleet 
wings to search for the home of the humming 
bird. After an hour’s rapid flight, the great stone 
entrance gates of Briarcliff Garden came into 
view. Up and down the avenues of flowers he 
went, calling greetings to the fairy inhabitants, 
but always shaking his head, in refusal, to their 
proffers of hospitality. 

Marco had no time for social pleasures now. 
He was a wicked elf who had killed an innocent 
bird and for the present, at least, his duty was 
plain before him. He must find her home and 

8i 


provide for her family should there chance to be 
one. 

Here was Althea Avenue West, at last; yes 
— and here was number two. Sure enough the 
beautiful nest, fashioned of softest cobweb and 
down from the dandelion, was hanging from a 
bush right before his eyes. About the outer rim 
were bits of lichen in fantastic and beautiful 
figures. As Marco drew near he whirred his 
wings, and the two baby birds in the nest, quite 
blind as yet to the outer world, opened expectant 
mouths in anticipation of the food that usually 
followed their parent’s return. 

Here was a problem. 

They must be fed and the elf had brought 
nothing. 

He fluttered into the nearest althea cup, and 
impaling several insects on the point of his wand 
and dipping them into nectar to be sweetened to 
taste, he returned to the nest, remembering to 
make the same noise with his wings to keep the 
birdies reassured. Into the hungry mouths he 
dropped the candied bugs. 

Seeing that the nest needed quite a lot of 
cleaning, he rocked the birdlets to sleep by sway- 
ing his body enough to move the nest gently to 
and fro. Even baby humming birds were great 
in size in comparison with the gypsy-elf. 

Marco tied his head in his gypsy kerchief, and 
taking some feathers he fastened them together 
and proceeded to sweep and dust the tumbled 
nest. While engaged in these duties he decided 
that some respect was due the memory of the 
departed mother bird. He engaged a spider to 
v/eave festoons of black cobweb over the althea 
82 


bush until the humming bird’s death became 
known. 

There was a gathering of his fairy friends, on 
hearing that Marco had adopted the humming 
bird’s family and taken up his abode in her nest, 
to care for the young until they were self sup- 
porting. In vain did the fairies argue that this 
was an unnecessary sacrifice. He had not pur- 
posely killed the bird, but did it on an impulse 
of self-defense ; but Marco invariably replied 
that he was there to stay. The birdlets were his 
adopted babies and he proposed to care for them. 

King Sylvas passed once in his aeroplane and 
used all his royal authority to enforce Marco’s 
attendance at court, and the desertion of his 
feathered family; but all to no avail. The bird- 
lets grew and thrived, and when their bulging 
round eyes opened on the world, innocently re- 
garded their elfin nurse as a careful parent. 

In return for his care and daily foraging tours 
for food and drink, the birdlets gave him all the 
affection of their orphaned hearts, and not un- 
derstanding the bird language very well, Marco 
carefully intstructed them daily in the elfin 
tongue. During their lesson each day there came 
a company of laughing elves and fairies, flying 
about the althea bush, or seating themselves on 
the rim of the nest, to hear the extraordinary 
sound of birds speaking their own tongue. 

Marco had arranged an extra room for him- 
self in the althea cup, next branch to the nest. 

During their infancy he had carefully covered 
the babies with the tropical feathered skin of a 
long dead humming bird. This skin he had got- 
ten with much risk from a gnome who lived in 

83 


the woods and sold humming bird skins and 
feathers for money. Marco, however, took pains 
to conceal from the gnome the fact that he was 
rearing two brilliant plumaged birds of his own, 
else, in his greed for gain, the feather merchant 
might have robbed the nest of the fledglings and 
killed them for their feathers. 

About his swinging tent and over the nest, 
Marco had hung awnings of striped grass, and 
as soon as they withered they were replaced by 
more. Number two Althea Avenue West became 
the rendezvous of all the cultured fairies and 
elves, but the humming birds renounced the or- 
phan birds as aliens from their kind. Whenever 
one passed the nest she would turn her head, 
holding her long bill contemptuously in the air. 
They had never forgiven the killing of the mother 
bird, and had confided to their bird friends that 
Marco had merely kidnapped the baby hummers 
when they were too young to understand. They 
accused him of raising them to sell their feathers 
to the gnome trader, or else to exhibit them as 
trained talking birds. Marco kept quiet at these 
cruel words and refused to quarrel with the 
stranger humming birds and so the language les- 
sons went on in the cosy nest. 

It was a great grief to the gypsy-elf that the 
voices of his charges could not be cultivated. 
Marco was very musical and would have enjoyed 
having song birds in the nest but humming birds 
do not sing. He was forced to content himself 
with teaching them to speak. This was no small 
task and, in spite of his most careful instruction, 
each bird spoke with quite a foreign accent. 

The birds saw nothing unusual in the condi- 
84 


tion, and having never known their own parents, 
they did not realize the difference between them- 
selves and the pretty little people who were their 
daily companions. Whenever either bird spoke 
of himself as an elf, the real elves went off into 
peals of tinkling laughter. They realized that 
with the approach of maturity this funny illusion 
of the birds must be dispelled. 

Finally the day came when they must be 
taught to fly, and here again their elfin teacher 
was put to new embarrassment. Humming birds 
must fly humming-bird fashion, with noisy whirr 
of wing, and, try as he would, Marco could only 
make his own dainty wings buzz very softly, and 
for only a few moments at a time. 

The gypsy-elf sat on the rim of the nest, his 
elbows on his knees and his tiny chin in his 
hands. His feet in their pointed elfin shoes 
swung idly and his long black locks were tangled 
and unkempt. This problem of raising a family 
had become too great for one inexperienced elf, 
without any responsibility of any kind hereto- 
fore. On each side of him perched one of his 
charges. They were growing rapidly and their 
plumage was of such tropical brilliancy and jew- 
eled sheen as might well have made the old 
gnome envious. Now and then each passed his 
long bill lovingly through Marco’s uncombed 
locks or spread a protecting wing about his tiny 
form. 

At last a bright thought came. 

It was true that the other humming birds 
would not associate with his birdlets, laughingly 
referred to by the fairies as “Marco’s twins,” 

85 


but the elf had just remembered that a hermit 
humming bird of sober plumage and renowned as 
a seer, lived in a quiet gray nest which drooped 
under a protecting palm leaf, not many flights 
away. He would go to the hermit and ask for 
help in his dilemma. Pushing the birds back into 
the nest and forbidding their leaving it until his 
return, off he went to the hermit’s home. 

The modest seer was in, and received the elf 
with grave courtesy, notwithstanding the fact 
that Marco was still regarded with disfavor by 
the hermit’s kindred. 

Then Marco in his most engaging manner ex- 
plained the condition of affairs to the humming 
bird. 

Now the hermit was also a priest, and having 
heard the confessions of many erring birds, he 
was better able to understand the acute con- 
science that had caused the irresponsible gypsy- 
elf to assume charge of two orphaned birds in 
expiation for the crime of killing their parent. 
Marco explained, that even understanding the 
humming bird’s tongue fairly well, an elf could 
not be expected to speak it correctly enough to 
enable him to teach it to a native. Then, too, if 
he taught the birds to fly, they would fly after the 
elfin fashion, and without the musical wing tones 
of their own kind. 

The hermit must understand the difficulties 
under which the well meaning and contrite elf was 
laboring. 

After much argument and with many winning 
ways the elf finally prevailed, and the little priest 
hummer promised to take charge of the education 
86 


of Marco’s twins, thus relieving the elf of all re- 
sponsibility. 

This load off the elfin shoulders, the hermit 
and the gypsy-elf flew back to Marco’s nest side 
by side. During the return journey they passed 
many humming birds who stared in surprise, 
first angrily, then gradually with softening gaze. 
If the elf had received absolution from the 
Hermit-Father for his sin, they, too, could afford 
to be forgiving. Arrived at the home nest, many 
elves and fairies came over to assist in preparing 
the young birds for their departure. 

The plan was for the birds to go to the her- 
mit’s home until they could learn to fly and speak 
like the others of their family, then they would 
be able to face the world alone. 

What a tearful time they had when the hour 
for departure came! The young birds wept and 
would not understand the reason for separating 
them from the only home and parent they had 
ever known. In vain did they chatter their rea- 
sons in the elfin tongue to the hermit, who could 
only bow and smile with his long bill, and try to 
explain to the hot headed youngsters that elfin 
talk by bird tongues was unintelligible to bird 
ears. 

Humming birds are great fighters, and Marco 
was forced to use his authority to keep his twins 
from a furious encounter with the sober little 
priest bird. The poor hummer, having lived a 
hermit so long was totally unprepared for this, 
and .had he not been a priestly bird, might 
have been forced into using his own battling 
qualities. After much scolding and persuading 
the young birds at last agreed to go, and as they 

87 


were yet unable to use their own wings, the 
fairies and elves, assisted by Marco and the her- 
mit, detached the nest from the althea bush with 
the twins safe inside. They bore it off in triumph 
like a basket to a balloon. The elves made a 
variegated body guard and they attracted the 
most marked attention from the humming birds 
on arrival at the gray nest of the hermit. Here 
the home nest was attached to the hermitage and 
the twins were left, the big tears rolling out of 
their eyes at parting from Marco, but big smiles 
in their bills at the kindness shown to two or- 
phaned birds. 

Marco agreed to come to see them once each 
day until they were grown. 

Then back went the elves and fairies to Briar- 
cliff Garden, taking Marco as their guest. 

That night at a farewell dinner given in his 
honor by the little folks, Marco assured them that 
now his crime was expiated, and his birds had 
flown, he felt “like a humming bird out of a cage.” 


88 




^he Gypsy Elf and his bride were borne softly forth on 
the bosom of a forest stream in a pea-shell boat. 


THE WEDDING 


T he Kingdoms of Fairyland and Elfland 
were in a flutter of anticipation. Excite- 
ment was at fever heat, and all because the 
word had gone abroad that beautiful Florita, 
Queen of the Fairies, and King Sylvas, ruler of 
Elfland, were to be married. Yes, indeed, the 
affair was one of national importance. The 
kingdoms had been entirely separate before, but 
now this royal alliance bade fair to make two 
countries one great whole. 

True, they had been on most friendly terms 
for quite a fairy’s lifetime, but the idea of becom- 
ing one nation had never entered their little 
minds. 

The ladies among both elves and fairies were 
chiefly occupied with the gowns to be worn, but 
the gentlemen were hard at work arranging all 
state matters likely to be affected by the wed- 
ding. 

Rev. Mr. Jack — yes, Jack-in-the-Pulpit — 
was to be the officiating minister. Brighteyes, 
chief Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen, was to be 
the maid of honor. All friendly insects were in- 
vited, and every bird who was interested. It was 
to be a sylvan affair in especial compliment to 
the bridegroom. The spot selected for the cere- 
mony was the very top of a large moss-covered 
rock. The rock was quite as high as the stump 

91 


of a tree, and the moss covering was soft, thick 
and green. 

The fairies engaged spiders to fasten cobweb 
rope ladders on every side of the rock, from its 
summit to the ground. Of course the little 
people could have used their own pretty wings 
to fly to the top, but as they were making wed- 
ding preparations they could not risk becoming 
tired. 

Many humming birds and dragon flies came 
each day to aid in carrying the little workers up 
and down. A particularly friendly robin red- 
breast also proved of great assistance. His back 
was broad and the fairy folk persuaded him to 
act as a sort of elevator. All day the faithful 
bird flew up and down, each time laden with 
necessities, or decorations for beautifying the 
unique chapel. A series of arches were erected 
across the rock. These arches were twined with 
greenery, and from the center of the foremost 
was hung a lily wedding bell. The pulpit of Mr. 
Jack, with its green canopied top, was to the left 
of the altar. Two moss-green kneeling cushions 
were just in front of a low chancel rail. This rail 
was made of grapevine tendrils, and the main 
aisle leading to it was a wide blade of striped 
grass. 

Black imps went about with bunches of 
feathers from the neck of a humming bird. The 
feathers were dipped in honeysuckle nectar and 
shaken over the moss carpet and tree bark pews, 
spreading the most delicious fragrance. 

A reed organ formed of tiny hollow reeds, 
and with the smallest keyboard ever seen, was 
on the opposite side of the altar from the pulpit. 

92 


A large frog of astonishing lung power was en- 
gaged to act as bellows. When the organ began 
to play his breath supplied the wind. 

The great night arrived ! 

Phosphorous, damp enough to send forth a 
luminous glow for many fairy miles, was rubbed 
over every side of the rock. 

The dragonfly aeroplane of King Sylvas, 
aglow with firefly lights, was anchored at one side 
to bear the little couple away. Marco, the gypsy 
elf, with all his gypsy band, occupied seats inside 
the white ribbon, exactly as if he were a prince 
of the realm. The Fairy Echo sat beside the 
organ, prepared to echo the tones of the wedding 
march. 

The elfin guests, attired in their rustic reds 
and browns, and with black eyes shining, ar- 
rived at exactly the same moment with the white 
and gold fairies. Two gentlemen, one an elfin 
courtier, the other a fairy in black pansy evening 
dress, acted as ushers; while the organ was pre- 
sided over by one of the humming birds that 
Marco had reared. It pleased Marco greatly to 
see him there, for the gypsy-elf had been much 
disappointed that his charges had not learned to 
sing. Now this one had done even a better thing, 
for he was an organist of renown. 

The bird used his long bill to manage the 
organ stops, his own little toes to play the keys, 
while a centipede very kindly consented to use 
his feet for the pedals. Playing the organ after 
this fashion became an easier matter than for a 
poor mortal with only the usual supply of hands 
and feet. 

The notes of the wedding march sounded. 

93 


The frog bellows puffed with all his breath and 
the centipede traveled up and down. Echo 
opened her red lips and sang back each tone, 
and the sides of the rock chapel became black 
with interested insect spectators. The branches 
of the trees were thronged with birds, many us- 
ing field glasses to bring the scene a bit nearer. A 
snap-dragon had to be arrested and confined in 
a frog hole, because in his excitement he snapped 
too loud. 

The wedding party entered. 

First came the vested Cricket Choir, then the 
elfin and fairy ushers. When they were half 
way up the aisle two mites of lady bridesmaids 
came, an elf and fairy, each in her typical na- 
tional dress. The elf wore the green of her wood- 
land, wearing a cap made of the skin of a scarlet 
berry. The fairy wore a gown of yellow jasmine 
petals. Next came an elf baby boy, bearing the 
ring, and a fairy baby girl, scattering tiny for- 
get-me-nots. Brighteyes, the Maid-of-Honor, in 
a carnation pink gown, entered and was followed 
by Florita, the lovely Queen bride. 

All white she was, her golden hair shimmer- 
ing beneath a valley lily cap and cobweb bridal 
veil. Her wedding gown was made of velvet 
bride rose petals, and powdered with star dust 
that shone like diamonds. 

She entered alone. 

At the altar she was met by King Sylvas and 
his best man. 

Rev. Mr. Jack performed the solemn cere- 
mony according to the fairy ritual, that made 
them man and wife. 

After the vows were spoken, to the surprise 
94 


of all present, the King and Queen, joint rulers 
of the United Kingdoms, did not retrace their 
steps down the aisle. 

No, indeed! 

Instead, they stepped to one side, and Bright- 
eyes moved near the organ where sat the Fairy 
Echo. Taking her by the hand, Brighteyes con- 
ducted her back to the Queen. Florita, with 
much grace and the sweetest of smiles, lifted the 
cap and veil from her own head and placed them 
on the lowered one of Echo. 

The best man meantime moved down the 
aisle, and with much dignity, escorted Marco 
from his seat behind the ribbon to the side of the 
pretty fairy. Somehow neither of them seemed 
surprised. Then it was that the onlookers almost 
forgot that they were in church, for by this time 
it was apparent to all that another wedding was 
in progress. 

Had it not been for a warning wave of the 
ministerial hand of Mr. Jack, there would have 
followed too much excitement for decorum, but 
at this signal they fell back into their seats. 

Again the ceremony was pronounced, again 
two tiny folk knelt for the blessing, and when 
the wedding march pealed forth once more, two 
happy couples responded to its strains. 

The audience rose in a body. 

Gone was royal ceremony, forgotten was 
churchly deportment. The applause was pro- 
longed, the uproar deafening. 

As the aeroplane bearing the royal pair swung 
out into the night from the summit of the rock, a 
more modest embarkation took place at its base. 

The gypsy-elf and his bride were borne softly 

95 


forth on the bosom of a forest stream, in a pea- 
shell boat ; Marco, himself, handling the oars. 

The voyage of life was beginning for four 
happy hearts. Above, the courtiers applauded 
the King and Queen. Below, the gypsy band on 
the bank of the stream, cast a long-pointed elfin 
shoe in the wake of the fairy boat, and gave three 
cheers for Mr. and Mrs. Marco. 


96 




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